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ler Little Highness 

By Nataly von Eschstruth. 

ILLUSTRATED BY JAMES FAGAN. 



TIIR 

CllOlCii! 

mim 

Nn. 109. 



A Fresh Novel From the German. 


WOOING A WIDOW. 


FROM THE GERMAN OF 

EWALD AUGUST KOENIG. 

BY 

MARY A. ROBINSON, 

Trafislator of A Child of the Parish f etc. 


WITH ILUSTRA TfONS BY JAMES FAG A H. 


12mo. 380 Pagres. Handsomely Bonnd in Cloth. Price, $1.25. 

Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


Koenig is one of the most popular novelists of Germany, and 
“ Wooing a Widow” is his best work. The widow in the story 
has more than one wooer, and there is great uncertainty as to the 
one ultimately to win and wed her. It is an exciting story, with 
a succession of interesting incidents in the working-out of an ex- 
cellent plot. It is rare that we find a story from the German so 
well planned and so delightfully carried out. It can be read at 
one sitting without any feeling of fatigue, as the story is inter- 
esting from beginning to end. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


“The Wholesome Educator of Millions.” 


1894 

Semi-Centennial Volume 



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(Der Lebende hat Recht.) 

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GEORGE HOCKER 

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Paper Cover, 60 Cents. 


This story is based upon a thrilling tragedy in real life, which 
created a sensation in Germany, and which in the form of a novel 
is equally thrilling and interesting. German novels are usually 
quiet and domestic, and while interesting and charming, are sel- 
dom exciting or dramatic. “ The Tell-Tale Watch ” is both, and 
will satisfy the taste for a mystery which, in the beginning, seems 
almost unfathomable. It is a strange story with an original plot, 
and one which will cause difference of opinion, as the sympathy 
of the reader is excited in favor of one character or another. It 
is not a story which any one who reads will consider dull. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


HER LITTLE HIGHNESS. 




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1 


HER LITTLE HIGHNESS 


2 . Jfotjel 


TRANSLATED FROMyTHE GERMAN OF 

NATALY VON*^SCHSTRUTH, 

Author of A Priestess of Comedy f “ Countess Dynar,^ 

Princess of the Stage f etc.^ etc. 


BY 

ELISE L. LATHROP. 

% 

% 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY JAMES FAGAN. 






MAY 1894 1 


NEW YORK : 

ROBERT BONNER’S S 






PUBLISHERS. 




THE CHOICE SERIES : 
WAY 15. 1824. 


ISSUED SEMI-MONTHLY, SUBSCRIPTION PRICE, TWELVE DOLLARS PER ANNUM. NO. 
ENTERED AT THE NEW YORK, N. Y., POST OFPICE AS SECOND CLASS MAIL MATTER« 



COPYRIOHT, 1894, 

By ROBERT BONNER’S SONS. 


(All rights reserved.) 



HER LITTLE HIGHNESS. 


T’ 


CHAPTER I. 

i 

'HEY called him Valleral.’’ How he came 
by this most uncommon nickname, the old 
nurse who had raised Count Lankwitz’s only 
son alone knew. In the days when she cradled 
little Cyprian in her arms, she had been a buxom 
young peasant, who knew no better lullaby for the 
young master than the jolly student song she heard 
every day in the village, with its lively refrain, 
“ juvivallera, juvivalleralera.” 

“ Juvivallera, juvivalleralera !” rang in little Count 
Cyprian’s ears from morning to night. What wonder 
then, if the first word he lisped was not papa ” or 
“mamma,” but an indistinct murmur, “ valleral ?” 
And when he would barely speak, he began to sing 
the song in merry Rosa’s style. So drollingly, that 
his parents finally themselves called him “ Little Val- 

[ 7 ] 


8 


Her Little Highness, 


leral,” and thus gave the signal for general imi- 
tation. 

Petted and spoiled as only children usually are, 
little Valleral ruled his father’s castle from garret to 
cellar, but in such a gay, winning manner that no 
one could be angry or punish him. 

Cyprian, with all his mischievous pranks, was 
most lovable. His golden head and roguish, laugh- 
ing face seemed to radiate sunshine. He was 
naughty through desire for amusement, not to 
harm or offend others ; and as he was wholly lacking 
in fear of punishment, he always confessed his mis- 
deeds frankly, merrily and unconcernedly, and 
marched triumphantly through life like a young 
conqueror to the refrain, “ juvivallera, juvivaller- 
alera !” 

He had never been whipped. When the countess 
and his nurse and governess once complained too 
bitterly of his misdeeds, and declared to his father 
that he was getting beyond their control. Count 
Lankwitz formed the stern resolve to procure a 
switch, and one fine day a brand-new switch ap- 
peared in the nursery, and the parents, followed by 
the servants, went thither in solemn procession to 
explain to the child the terrible meaning of this in- 
strument. 

Cyprian already stood before the new acquisition, 
his hands in the pockets of his first pair of trousers, 
and anticipated his father’s speech with the de- 
lighted query : “ Thunder, papa, what is that jolly 

thing up there ?” 

The count looked very solemn. 


Her Little Highness. 


9 


“That is a switch !“ said he with terrible em- 
phasis. 

“ A switch ? What is it used for?” asked his son, 
with a bewitching smile. 

The count took it down with a somewhat un- 
steady hand. 

“ This switch is to whip with, Cyprian,” he began, 
solemnly, but his well prepared little speech was 
nipped in the bud by the child’s delighted excla- 
mation : 

“ Valleralera !” he cried, rushed up to his amazed 
father, and pulled the switeh from his hand. “ To 
whip with ? That is fine !” And before the hor- 
rified spectators could recover from their surprise, 
his little hand wielded the birch, applying it vigor- 
ously over Rosa’s shoulders and back. The nurse 
fled, friend Valleral rushing after her, his eyes 
dancing with enjoyment. 

The noise died away in the distance, the count 
and countess gazed at each other, speechless, until 
the mother burst into laughter, and the father 
sighed resignedly : 

“ It is a failure, Dora. The switch is there, to be 
sure, but Master Cyprian chooses to wield it himself.” 

Neudeck was a handsome old estate, but Count 
Lankwitz realized that in modern times a consid- 
erable fortune is needed to keep up an estate. But 
the fortune he could leave his son would be small, 
and therefore all his and his wife’s hopes centered 
in an old uncle, little Valleral’s god-father, who, 
they hoped, would make the child his heir. Uncle 
Adolf was a retired cavalry general, possessed a 


o 


Her Little Highness. 


large fortune, and was such a confirmed old bache- 
lor that there seemed little fear that he, the septua- 
genarian, would every marry. 

Uncle Adolf had announced his arrival on Cy- 
prian’s fifth birthday for a visit, and the parents had 
devoted their energies for weeks to drilling their 
unreliable little son for this momentous day. Uncle 
Adolf had not been favored by nature, as regarded 
outward charms, and was most sensitive as to his 
appearance and easily insulted by the faintest allu- 
sion to it. 

The parents confined their efforts chiefly to pre- 
paring little Valleral to make only the most agreeable 
speeches to his uncle, and, contrary to their expec- 
tations, the child showed himself most obliging, and 
promised to treat his stern uncle most affectionately. 
He kept his word. 

With secret delight the parents saw how lovingly 
the boy treated the important guest, how much 
taken with him Uncle Adolf was, and how the two 
became more and more friendly. 

Guests from the neighboring estates assembled 
for dinner, among them the pretty, amusing, young 
Baroness Bohden, whom the general had already 
met in the capital. 

He strolled with her in the shady park, holding 
Cyprian’s little hand tight clasped in his, proud 
and delighted that the child was so ready and will- 
ing to accompany him, and this was due to no cal- 
culating motives on little Cyprian’s part, but because 
the old man, with his rough caresses, pleased him, 
and had all the charms of novelty. 


Her Little Highness. 1 1 


So, to the old bachelor’s especial satisfaction, he 
insisted upon sitting beside his uncle at dinner, 
and as he could empty his glass of champagne right 
bravely with the old man, the two became more and 
more sociable. Uncle Adolf was never handsome, 
but wine flushed his face and made it ludicrously 
ugly. ^ 

Cyprian thought otherwise. Never before had he 
seen such a face; and as he admired everything 
about Uncle Adolf, he made use of a momentary 
pause in conversation, rested his hand lovingly on 
the general’s arm, and gazed up into his face most 
affectionately. 

“ Oh, uncle !” he cried, enthusiastically. “ What 
beautiful little bits of eyes you have ! What splen- 
did big ears ! What a crimson nose and such a 
lovely, big mouth ; you could easily put that melon 
in it !” 

The effect of this love declaration was indescrib- 
able. Uncle Adolph sat paralyzed with astonish- 
ment ; with crimson cheeks the guests gazed at their 
plates, or choked and coughed. Only Count and 
Countess Lankwitz sat pale with despair, and knew, 
at this moment, that the uncle’s will would certainly 
be different from what they had hoped. 

The general was and remained noticeably out of 
temper, rose from the table at a very early hour and 
departed by the first train. Valleral continued to 
address him lovingly, but the general was gloomy 
and absent-minded, and seemed scarcely to notice 
his little nephew’s advances. 

“ Now, all is over ! He is furious and will never 


Her Little Highness. 


I 2 


become reconciled !” sobbed the countess, and her 
husband sighed his assent. But they were mistaken. 
Nothing seemed to go wrong with merry little 
Valleral. On the contrary, he seemed an especial 
favorite of fortune, and the more rash he was, the 
more did she dog his footsteps. 

Uncle Adolf died most suddenly, and his will 
made Cyprian sole heir. From the diary found 
among his possessions, the boy’s parents learned 
what a blessing instead of, as they had feared, the 
reverse, the boy’s words at dinner had proved. 

On that very day. Uncle Adolf had been nearer 
love-making than ever before. Cyprian’s tender- 
ness, his caresses and affectionate ways, had awak- 
ened strange emotions in the solitary old bachelor’s 
heart. An indescribable longing for what he had 
never possessed, for love and domestic happiness, 
filled him. And just in this mood, fate threw in his 
way Baroness Bohden, whose grace and charms had 
already attracted his attention in the capital, and 
who, in the park at Neudeck, had fairly bewitched 
him with her pretty coquetry. 

He had taken a sudden, passionate resolution. 
After dinner, when wine had loosed his tongue, he 
would boldly venture to lay his heart, hand and — 
fortune at Baroness Bohden ’s feet. 

As Alice von Bohden was penniless and depend- 
ent upon relatives, the general need have feared no 
refusal ; but the thought of being accepted merely 
for his wealth tormented his sensitive heart, thirst- 
ing for love. But the girl’s dark eyes gazed at him 
so tenderly, the red lips smiled so charmingly, and 


He 7 ' Little HigJmcss. 13 


what they said was as delightful as though Alice 
were talking, not to an old gray -haired invalid, but 
to the youngest of handsome, irresistible cavaliers. 
He almost persuaded himself that she really cared 
for him. And then — 

Then came the catastrophe at the table. Cyprian’s 
child lips truly and tenderly uttered the fatal 
criticism of his appearance, which did not offend 
the general ; but the laughter, the exchange of 
glances among the guests wounded him deeply. 

And most deeply did Alice’s heartless laugh, 
which she barely concealed with her napkin, cut 
him. She fancied herself hidden by the ^pergne, 
from the general’s sight, and did not suspect that it 
was she whom he watched between the flowers. 
Her mocking smile banished his illusions, and he 
saw that Alice coquetted far more with the young 
officer at her side than with him. 

Thus his belated dream of love was blighted, and 
little Valleral had unconsciously carved his own 
fortune. 

And it continued thus. There are fortunate 
mortals who may do what they will without ever 
harming themselves, and Cyprian was one of 
these. Careless, smiling, amusing, without being 
fast or dissipated, always agreeable and winning, 
he led a merry life, understanding admirably how 
to interest his governesses and tutors in anything 
rather than his studies. 

He learned nothing, and yet knew enough to join 
in any conversation and to entertain people excel- 
lently with his amusing chat— a butterfly who 


H 


Her Little Highness, 


basked in the sunshine, delighted every eye, and 
was welcomed by every flower, and who yet was a 
careless, idle thing, without any serious object in life. 

The weak parents tormented themselves with the 
thought that their son would never pass an exam- 
ination, or have a profession, but Vallerabs luck 
did not desert him. He was clear-headed, and the 
thought of wearing a handsome hussar uniform 
flattered his vanity. What wonder that he Anally 
became serious at his long detention, went to work, 
and actually passed the necessary examination “ to 
be rid of school books,” and was admitted to the 
army. 

The parents were overjoyed when they could at 
last embrace their twenty -year-old lieutenant and, 
Valleral, without the slightest idea of the reality of 
army life, departed for his new garrison in a small 
country town. 

Subordination, service and respect were terms 
which conveyed no meaning to him ; that a captain 
is a being of great importance to his youngest lieu- 
tenant, and especially in a one-company station, was 
something inconceivable to Cyprian, Count Lank- 
witz, and highly amusing to the young tyrant of 
Neudeck. Up to this time he had been the leader 
in every place that he chose to honor with his 
presence, and now, lo and behold, a captain ap- 
peared upon the scene, a plain Mr. von Angerschutz, 
who dared address him in such a manner that in his 
first indignation Count Cyprian declared that the 
disgrace of an offlcial snub could only be wiped out 
with blood. 


Her Little Highness, 


15 


The clear-headed, agreeable first lieutenant of his 
company had great difficulty in making the young 
hothead understafid the impossibility of the act; 
but when Valleral had been assured on all sides that 
a subordinate officer may not challenge his superior 
on account of differences in matters of drill, he 
good-naturedly submitted to the inevitable, for his 
moods were as variable as April weather, and when 
his honor and reputation were not concerned, he 
was perfectly willing to look at matters on their 
comical side. 

The captain was not an agreeable character. The 
duel which his youngest lieutenant had planned 
had, of course, come to his ears, and he could not 
forgive Valleral’s unheard-of arrogance. The 
young count who had taken all hearts by storm 
vexed and irritated him, and his crabbed nature 
now sought relief in annoying Valleral in every 
possible way. 

But Valleral troubled himself no further in the 
matter. As he now knew that he was powerless 
against his superior in affairs of service, he shook 
off all annoyances with easy good nature. In all 
intercourse with Captain von Angerschutz, in bar- 
racks or exercise place, he was coolness personified, 
and this irritated his hot-headed enemy more than 
he suspected ; but on neutral ground, in the club or 
society, it was Count Cyprian, the wealthy, jolly 
agreeable heir, who coirld always amuse the public 
as well as himself by fresh little malicious acts, 
which drove the captain to despair. 

On this neutral ground many a bitter fight took 


i6 


Her Little Highness, 


place, carried on, on Cyprian’s part, in the best of 
tempers, on the captain’s with ever increasing rage 
and many an imprudent act. Thfs unequal conflict 
was watched with especial interest by the regiment. 

Valleral, always affable, good company and ever 
ready to help a comrade, had the full sympathy of 
all the men, even to the colonel, whom his young- 
est lieutenant’s tact and repartee highly amused. 
Angerschutz had never been popular, and many 
a comrade saw in Cyprian the avenger of some 
slight offered to himself. 

Valleral occupied a bachelor apartment, very 
handsome for the size of the town, with stables and 
gardens. What wonder then if the idea suddenly 
occurred to him to keep a ram ? Every one laughed 
and thought it quite h la Valleral that the young 
officer busied himself for hours with this ram ; and, 
in fact, it was rumored that Count Lankwitz was 
personally training it. For what purpose? They 
racked their brains in vain. Was he about to sur- 
prise some little daughter of the regiment, in his 
well-known charming way, with a goat carriage? 
Very possibly. 

• “ Hans,” as the ram was called — strange to say, 
this was also the captain’s name — was an enormous 
fellow, with imposing horns, and of a most pugna- 
cious nature, which fact made all visitors to the 
Lankwitz garden very cautious. Yet Hans had 
never attacked any one. 

The captain’s residence was two houses further 
down the street, and he was obliged to pass Cyprian’s 
gate whenever he went to the barracks. One 


Her Little Highness. 


17 


morning Valleral invited the two lieutenants with 
whom he was most intimate to breakfast ; and after 
the meal the three young fellows happened to be at 
the window just as the captain set foot in the street 
on his way to the barracks. 

Hans, the ram, was gamboling happily in the 
yard when he suddenly started, and raised his head 
abruptly. Valleral gave a long, sharp whistle, 
changing into the tune, '-Haudeamus and, as 
though the ram had only waited for this signal, he 
rushed out of the gate, and at the approaching 
captain. 

Hans advanced with lowered horns. Angerschutz 
sprang aside, the ram followed ; hard pressed, the 
captain retreated to the house steps. Hans followed 
after him as though bewitched, and a wild and bit- 
ter conflict ensued. Angerschutz attacked the animal 
with his saber ; but the ram seemed proof against 
blows and pricks, and sprang at his master’s enemy 
with redoubled fury. 

A crowd assembled. People screamed with 
laughter, while the captain’s face flushed crimson 
with rage. 

“ Lankwitz, call your accursed beast off, or I will 
stab it. Devil take it !” 

Valleral called most tenderly, while the other men 
almost suffocated with laughter. But it was in vain ; 
it seemed as though his young master’s voice merely 
excited the ram to fresh fury. 

Finally the lieutenants descended to the street, 
and their combined efforts succeeded in ridding the 
captain of his attacker. 


Her Little Highness, 


Angerschutz trembled with rage. He read in the 
young fellows’ faces that he could count on little 
sympathy from them ; therefore he contented him- 
self with making slurring remarks about a cavalry 
officer who had to keep a goat because he felt too 
insecure upon horseback, and walked off. 

Lankwitz had apologized most politely, and his 
comrades were highly indignant at the captain’s 
rudeness. 

The next day Angerschutz rode past the gate. 
As though possessed with an evil spirit, the ram 
rushed out and attacked his horse, which, startled, 
shied so violently, that his unprepared rider could 
with difficulty keep his seat and check the runaway. 
He had not heard Cyprian whistle “ Gaudearmisi' 

The street was filled with laughing spectators. 
The amusing story that Count Lankwitz’s ram had 
taken a violent dislike to the captain interested 
every one, and all now began to suspect how and 
why the animal had been trained. 

Angerschutz was beside himself with fury, and 
sent word to the count that unless he got rid of the 
ram at once he, the captain, would shoot it. 

Lankwitz replied in a highly courteous note that 
unfortunately he could not gratify the captain’s 
wish. The goat was the property of the circus pro- 
prietor, R., who had trained him, and who had only 
left him here during his absence on a business trip. 
Hans was an extremely intelligent and valuable 
animal, and it would cost the captain a considerable 
sum if he harmed him. 

Angerschutz was noted for his miserliness. He 


Her Little Highness. 


19 


wrote back that he did not intend to be put to ex- 
pense on the count’s account, but must request the 
latter to keep his gate locked, that the ram could 
no longer annoy the passers-by. If the count did not 
do this he would be forced to adopt other measures. 

The next day the gate was closed indeed, and in 
addition a huge beam placed across it, but Hans 
grazed peacefully in the neighboring meadow, and 
when the captain, smiling ironically, had passed the 
gate, his enemy suddenly rushed through the defec- 
tive hedge and attacked that unprepared gentleman 
more fiercely than ever. 

Angerschutz saw that the whole affair had been 
planned by the count to annoy him, but as he found 
that sly Valleral had protected himself on all sides, 
and that to kill the hated ram would but cause ex- 
pense and fresh unpleasantness to himself, he 
changed his plan. At first he tried to attack the 
beast with a couple of dogs, but they retreated, 
howling, after a few thrusts from the sharp horns 
of this unusual opponent, and Angerschutz only 
saved himself by speedy flight. 

For the next few days he took a most circuitous 
route to the barracks, and to the regret of all the 
affair seemed ended. 



CHAPTER II. 

For some days peace prevailed in the little garri- 
son, but it was but the calm before the storm. 

The captain's eyes still flashed threateningly, and 
the triumphant, malicious glances he cast upon his 
second lieutenant would have excited distrust in 
any one but Cyprian Lankwitz, whose careless na- 
ture looked upon deceit as an impossibility. The 
owners of one of the neighboring estates had sent 
out invitations to a particularly promising hunt, and 
as Valleral was fond of all kinds of sport, he was 
among the hunters, while, strange to say. Captain 
von Angerschutz was absent. But no one missed 
him ; on the contrary, the young ofhcers breathed 
more freely not to have their superior present to 
act as a damper upon their spirits. 

Cyprian looked so handsome in his hunting cos- 
tume, and was in such high spirits, that Baroness 
Soldan, usually so cold and indifferent, who had 
driven over to call upon the daughter of the house, 
could scarcely turn her eyes from him. 

Baroness Soldau was considered the wealthiest 
heiress in the whole neighborhood. An only child, 
[ 20 ] 



Her Little Highness. 21 


she was heiress to a large, wholly unencumbered 
estate, with fine coal mines, a palatial villa in the 
capital, and besides, a considerable amount of ready 
cash, which would make her large, bony hand seem 
highly desirable to most men. 

And yet she had no visitors, strange to say, for 
although she was no beauty, she was far from ill- 
looking. Tall, very brunette, somewhat awkward 
in figure and manner, Bianca von Soldau gazed for 
the most part, right coldly, ill-humoredly and mis- 
anthropically upon the world. In spite of her twenty 
years, she was not young-looking, nor was she in 
either mind or body. Severe and pessimistic, she 
lived secluded as a nun, and it was said that Captain 
von Angerschutz was the first lover who had ever 
seemed to find favor in her eyes, for he was as bitter 
and pessimistic as the young lady herself. 

It therefore excited great astonishment when 
Baroness Bianca had actually laughed aloud once 
or twice when Count Lankwitz had recently escorted 
her to dinner, and to-day, too, all marveled at the 
unfeigned interest with which her eyes followed 
the young hunter as often as he drew near. Un- 
suspecting this great distinction, Valleral made one 
fine shot after another, and returned victorious to 
dinner, where he entertained the whole table, espe- 
cially the young ladies, of whom Baroness Soldau 
was one. 

At first she had intended paying a short call only, 
but had remained so long that the hostess was not 
wrong in thinking that she would please the young 
lady by inviting her to remain to the hunt dinner. 


22 


Her Little Highness. 


Bianca accepted very gladly, and during the meal 
singled out Count Lankwitz for her especial atten- 
tion, consisting merely in a pleasant smile and the 
glance of her large, beautiful eyes." Yet Valleral 
was teased greatly afterward about his new con- 
quest, which amused him highly, since it made him 
the captain’s rival. 

What could be more amusing than to contest 
Baroness Bianca with Angerschutz, who had already 
believed himself almost at his goal ? How furious 
it would make him if his gold-fish were to forsake 
him and turn to his enemy ! Cyprian could give 
the avaricious man no greater blow, and his eyes 
danced at the thought. He proceeded to make him- 
self most agreeable ; and Baroness Soldau’s cheeks, 
as they flushed more and more deeply, proved how 
well he succeeded. The flirtation was watched with 
amusement and looked upon merely as a new bit of 
malice on the part of the lieutenant, directed at his 
captain ; for serious intentions seemed out of the 
question. There could not have been a more un- 
suited, unlike pair than Cyprian and Bianca ; and be- 
sides, the youngest lieutenant, barely twenty years 
old, surely did not think of matrimony. 

And they were right. At that time nothing was 
further from Count Lankwitz’s thoughts, although 
his remarkable success with the cold Bianca flattered 
his vanity, and her radiant, beautiful eyes pleased 
him more and more. 

At length the guests departed in the gayest of 
moods, and Valleral mounted his horse to return to 
his garrison. 


Her Little Highness. 


23 


When he rode in at his gate, his man stood on 
the threshold, awaiting him, with pale cheeks and 
disturbed air ; but Valleral was in too merry a mood 
to notice this, threw him the reins, and entered the 
house. 

There on the table in the sitting-room, gleaming 
in the lamp light, lay a couple of gold pieces. 
Cyprian drew nearer and glanced at them. A hun- 
dred marks ! What did that mean ? 

He went to the stable. 

“ Hey, August, what is that money on the table ? 
Where did it come from?” 

August drew himself up and saluted, his face 
anxious, his voice hoarse. 

“ That is for our ram, count.” 

“ For the ram !” Vallerabs voice thundered through 
the low room. ‘‘ Devil take you, what do you 
mean ?” 

“ Does not the count know about it?” stammered 
the hussar, anxiously. 

“ I have no suspicion. Where is Hans ? What 
has happened to my ram ?” 

Lankwitz threw open the door of the adjoining 
stable in wild excitement, and raised a lantern. 

The stall was empty. No sign of Hans. The 
blood left the young officer’s cheeks. 

“ What has happened to the ram, August ? Has 
any one killed him ?” he asked, from between his 
teeth. 

The man saluted again. 

“ The count had scarcely left the yard this noon 
when the captain came with another man, and with- 


24 


Her Little Highness, 


out calling me, went to the stable. I suspected 
something wrong, and drew nearer respectfully. 
But the captain did hot look at me, but said to the 
other man : ‘ Here is the ram. Trained for the 

circus. He can do all kinds of tricks. What will you 
give for it, Levi ?’ 

“ The dealer, whom the count knows, bargained 
for a long time, said that such an animal was of no 
value, and then they talked in a low tone, and 
finally came to an agreement. Levi drew out his 
purse and paid the captain something, and he said : 
‘ I will add something to that so the count may have 
a fair price.’ Then Levi tied a rope around our 
Hans’s neck, and dragged him off, and when I tried 
to say something the captain snubbed me, so that I 
went back to the stable, for I could say nothing 
more. But our Hans is gone, and now — now they 
have perhaps already killed him, for Levi said he 
was in fine condition.” 

Valleral had listened in silence, his brow was 
flushed, his eyebrows contracted, betokening storm. 

‘‘ Good !” said he, shortly. “ Bring me a bottle of 
sherry, August,” and he turned his back and re- 
turned to the house. 

He sat there half the night, puffing wreaths of 
blue smoke, and drank one glass of wine after an- 
other. Finally a light dawned in his eyes, he 
laughed softly and raised his head triumphantly. 
Now he knew how to answer the captain, and went 
happily to bed and slept until broad daylight, for 
the next day was Sunday, and the captain always 
spent that day in the neighboring city. 


Her Little Highness, 


25 


This Sunday Captain von Angerschutz returned 
home very early, and, in accordance with his cus- 
tom, made a tour of house and stables to see if all 
was in order. 

His man’s face had never had the slightest in- 
terest for the captain, nor did he notice to-day how 
changed it was, as the fellow silently waited to be 
questioned, and to-day the captain asked no ques- 
tions, for he was in a very bad temper. He had 
called upon the parents of Baroness Soldau, and for 
the first time had been denied admission without 
reasonable excuse. And this time he had intended 
to ask for the hand of the lady of his choice. Could 
it be true, what he had heard rumored, that Lank- 
witz had dared interfere with his superior, and that 
Miss Bianca was really interested in his enemy ? 

A feverish unrest tormented Angerschutz. He 
resolved to ride out to Soldau that evening. He 
had counted with such certainty upon this match, 
that failure would be of considerable moment to 
him. 

Followed by his man, he entered the stable, 
raised the lantern he carried and gazed around. 

“Confound it — where are the horses?” came 
breathlessly from his lips. As no answer followed 
immediately, he turned and stared at his man. Gott- 
lieb stood before him with shaking knees, the pic- 
ture of distress. 

“ Fellow!” thundered Angerschutz. “ What has 
happened to the beasts ?” 

“ They — they — Count Lankwitz sold them to Levi 
this afternoon, captain,” stammered the hussar. 


26 


Her Little Highness, 


“ There are two hundred marks in on the 
table—” 

An inarticulate cry of rage. The lantern crashed 
on the paved floor, the stable door banged, and 
Gottlieb sat alone in the dark, overwhelmed with 
despair, and wished that the ground would open and 
swallow him and Count Lankwitz. 

Never had a story created such a sensation in 
military circles as the account of Valleral’s bold act 
in calmly revenging himself on his captain, who had 
sold his goat, by selling the captain’s horses. 

Of course, the affair caused much talk, became 
serious, and passed from one official board to an- 
other, but Valleral did not worry over it. He knew 
that his prank was heartily laughed at and applauded, 
and his colonel did not look very fierce when he 
gravely told him that it was impossible for Count 
Lankwitz longer to remain in his regiment, and to 
be prepared for a transfer as punishment. 

The young offender did so with the most charm- 
ing grace, and had no fault to find with being 
ordered, until the matter was decided, to another 
squadron, where, under agreeable superiors, he led 
a most charming life. 

Valleral had always been lucky. Why should 
Dame Fortune desert him now, when he had 
amused a whole country with his ready revenge ? 

The dreaded transfer came, but a loud cheer rang 
through the club-room, in which, for two weeks, 
Cyprian and his young comrades had each evening 
drowned their grief at parting with champagne, 
when, stammering with surprise, he read aloud the 


Her Little Highness. 


27 


ominous letter from the regimental adjutant. Trans- 
ferred to the St. L. body-guard of Ulans, to one of 
the most elegant regiments, the most brilliant gar- 
risons, where a ducal court resided, and his father- 
in-law already possessed a magnificent villa ! O 
most delightful of colonels, to “ punish ” his young 
lieutenant thus ! His ears should have rung with 
all the enthusiastic cheers that Valleral proposed 
for him. 

And Cyprian’s father-in-law? Ah, that was an- 
other story. 

The evening that Captain von Angerschutz vainly 
sought his horses to honor Castle Soldau with a 
proposal, Valleral had sat at the feet of Baroness 
Bianca, and asked her laughingly if she would not 
think him, the youngest lieutenant, quite too bold 
if he already thought of matrimony. 

With a deep blush, she assured him that she 
would think him merely very sensible. 

“ Brilliant ! Then we are quite of one mind,” he 
had cried, thus encouraged, seized her two cool, 
ugly hands, and drew them hastily to his lips, “ and 
if you think it sensible for me to fall in love with 
you, Bianca, then be sensible, too, and take me.” 

This she had done, with radiant face, and thus 
at twenty, Valleral was engaged and soon married. 

Over this prank, which surely was planned merely 
to drive the captain to desperation, people had at 
first gravely shaken their heads, for to engage one 
self merely to vex another seemed too frivolous, 
and they pitied the deluded girl, who surely was 
about to make a most unhappy marriage. Never 


28 


Her Little Highness, 


was a greater contrast between a couple than be- 
tween gay Cyprian and the grave, misanthropical 
Bianca. How soon the 5^oung butterfly would tire 
of his plain, uninteresting wife, and neglect her — 
this catastrophe was awaited with true eagerness. 

But they had utterly mistaken Valleral’s honest 
heart. If, at first, the fact that Angerschutz was 
driven wild at the loss of the heiress had lent a 
zest to his courtship, his fiancee s radiant happiness 
made a great impression upon him, and her whole 
manner, which expressed the tenderest, most ador- 
ing love, made him rejoice to meet her with the 
same tenderness. What at first was somewhat 
feigned, soon became reality, for Bianca’s was a 
deep, richly gifted nature, which revealed itself in 
all its wealth to her husband as fully as it concealed 
itself from the world. 

Count Lankwitz’s marriage proved a most happy 
one, and his treatment of Bianca fairly exemplary. 

After a year a son was born to the young couple, 
and Valleral, the twenty-one-year-old father, was 
beside himself with pride and happiness. He was 
as much of a favorite in the new garrison as he had 
always been everywhere, and so all felt the deepest 
sympathy with the count in his great and sincere 
grief when, after scarcely two years of wedded life, 
his wife was taken from him by death. A severe 
inflammation of the lungs had laid her upon a sick- 
bed, and Cyprian tended her with unselfish devo- 
tion until her last breath, which was a blessing 
upon him. 

With Bianca his good angel departed. His 


Her Little High^iess. 29 


sense of duty to her, as well as the young wife’s 
good influence, had restrained him. Now that he was 
alone again, he fell back into his bachelor ways, and 
soon became the gay, flippant young man of former 
days. He became a man of the world, in the good 
sense of the word — always active, ready for any- 
thing, handsome, elegant and a universal favorite. 

He resigned while captain, and spent most of his 
time in travelling, while his little son, Cyril, was 
brought up by his mother’s parents. 

The child was said strikingly to resemble his 
mother. His nature had from infancy proved to be 
unusually grave and thoughtful, and he seemed un- 
natural in contrast with other children of his age. 

Cyril was as exemplary a child as his father had 
been spoiled and unruly. Cyril scarcely needed 
training. He obeyed without questioning, played 
quietly by the hour, and when he had once given a 
promise, held to it with a fidelity which amazed 
every one. He had also inherited his mother’s ex- 
treme sensitiveness. Easily deeply offended, he 
would brood over an injury and ponder for days 
how to revenge himself ; and he would revenge him- 
self each time, not in a malicious or sly way, but so 
as so show the offender how bitterly he had wronged 
the boy, how unjustly he had acted. 

The child was somewhat pedantic, although he 
had also inherited his father’s talents and capabili- 
ties ; for Cyril learned with the utmost ease, and 
took delight in writing little stories which displayed 
great imagination. That these were chiefly of a 
deeply religious and sternly moral nature surprised 


30 


Her Little Highness. 


tlie friends of the family most of all, and they could 
not marvel enough at the strange freak of nature 
which had created in father and son such absolute 
extremes. 

As Lankwitz, senior, had been nicknamed “ Val- 
leral,” some wit nicknamed the pious, grave, steady 
Lankwitz, junior, Hosanna and this odd name 
was circulated widely. 

But, strange to say, the relations between father 
and son were most affectionate, and their devotion 
to each other remarkable. Whoever saw the two 
together would think them brothers, the gay, laugh- 
ing, youthful father would even have been taken 
for the younger, now that Cyril had grown taller 
than he, and his 'dark eyes gazed out at the world 
with the same look of premature age that his mother 
had had. 

But Valleral and Hosanna wandered through life, 
arm in arm, in fond affection, and the older Cyril 
became, the more did he occupy the place of his 
early deceased mother, like her, acting as a benefi- 
cial restraint upon his vivacious father. 




CHAPTER III. 

A ball in the art gallery of the ducal castle was 
announced for the fifth of January. 

These gallery balls were especially popular, as 
they were usually recruited from the most select 
circles of society, were never overcrowded, and gave 
the guests opportunity for more intimate association 
with their sovereign and his family than other offi- 
cial entertainments, where individuality was wholly 
lost in the assembled crowd. 

The entire capital city was laid out in the most 
modern and elegant style, and in keeping with this 
frame, the ducal castle was a beautiful building — a 
true fairy palace of stone carvings, turrets and 
domes, and situated on a hill commanding a fine 
view of the city. The interior of the castle was also 
most modern and new-furnished at great expense 
and with exquisite taste, charming the eye where- 
soever it might rest. 

Young life pulsated in the new castle. The 
reigning duke had barely passed his twenty-sixth 
birthday when his father’s death made him ruler. 
Henry Augustus was a gay, active ruler, who gladly 

[31] 


32 


He7^ Little Highness, 


mingled the roses of youth with laurels, and after 
anxious days loved to forget, by making merry 
feasts with congenial, amusing companions, the 
cares which weighed upon him since he had been 
placed at the head of his people and been given 
the task of defending them from his enemies. 

Having been married three years before to a 
princess as pleasure-loving as beautiful, and admir- 
ing her greatly, he took pleasure in introducing 
more and more of the customs of her southern 
home into his German capital and abolishing many 
of the old, stiff forms of etiquette. 

The other members of the ducal family were 
Princess Hermine, the elderly sister of the duke’s 
dead mother, who devoted her time wholly to study, 
and the sovereign’s only sister, many years his 
junior, who was the idol of the whole realm and 
watched by all with especial interest, as the young 
ruling pair had as yet no children. 

Princess Rafaela was the most charming little 
being imaginable. Of piquant beauty, with long, 
floating, golden brown curls, her little flgure, clad 
always in white, flitted like a sylph through castle 
and garden when the spoiled little princess suc- 
ceeded in escaping from nurses and governesses. 

“ Good heavens, baroness, do not worry so over 
the princess’s high spirits!” Duke Henry would say 
with an amused laugh, when the princess’s gover- 
ness would report with tears some fresh prank on 
the part of her young charge. “ She is not made of 
wood, and all children romp at twelve years of age. 
What matter if she does make horrible faces at my 



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guards from the castle windows. My brave grena- 
diers will not take it amiss ; they werq. mischievous 
boys in their day. And if Rafaela finds so much 
pleasure in dressing her dogs in the costumes 
of court ladies and her governesses, then chas- 
ing them through the corridors, why, let her have 
her fun, and merely send me the bill for the ruined 
things. The ladies will surely not object to be 
newly dressed now and then.” 

Baroness Zossen was silenced, even if not con- 
vinced. She had done all that lay in her power 
to check the little princess’s extravagances ; if, 
therefore, the ducal pair crossed her plans, it was 
not her fault. 

* * * * -X- 

A court ball in the picture gallery. 

Silken gowns rustle up the marble staircase, spurs 
and sabers clink in the brightly lighted corridors. 
The young people are doubly happy, for a long 
season of court mourning has sadly interfered with 
dancing, and now that it is at an end, all feel in the 
gayest mood. 

Count Cyprian Lankwitz, who, since his last 
Oriental trip, has taken up his permanent residence 
in the capital, has donned his gay Ulan uniform, 
and now mounts the staircase with a look which 
plainly shows how gladly he comes. 

“ He knows the secret of perpetual youth and 
beauty,” is said of him, for time seems to leave no 
traces on his slender figure and laughing face. 
“ Valleral,” the name by which he was known as the 
youngest lieutenant, still clings to the handsome, 


34 


Her Little Highness, 


retired captain, about whom nothing is old except 
his son. 

Before one of the handsome mirrors in the domed 
hall, he pauses, and glances at his reflection, pass- 
ing his hand over his hair as though smoothing it, 
but his interest is less in his own image than in the 
arriving ladies, who, wrapped in furs and veils, are 
hurrying to the dressing-room. 

The count has always found it amusing to watch 
the beauties at an entertainment in their various 
metamorphoses, and see how, from a shapeless, 
cloaked mass in large fur shoes, will emerge a deli- 
cate creature in lace and gauze. 

The old ladies and young girls look most extraor- 
dinary. The hadsome, coquettish women in the re- 
naissance age, know that corridors and stairs are as 
brightly lighted and crowded as the reception- 
rooms, and, therefore, they are arranged so that even 
in passing they may excite admiration. 

A long sea-green velvet train rustles over the 
marble staircase. A woman of medium height and 
full, luxurious figure, with her white fur cloak 
thrown back over her shoulders very effectively, 
so that it may merely frame, not conceal her elegant 
figure, is the owner of this train. Involuntarily Val- 
leral turns. He has a whole array of different 
glances, and now he selects the most interesting 
and boldly admiring. The little foot in the tiny 
satin slipper pauses hesitatingly for a moment, and 
a hand is raised to throw the lace veil back from 
her face. 

Not a pretty face, somewhat too fresh and round- 


Her Little Highness. 


35 


cheeked. But what a smile and glance ! It would 
be impossible to say whether she bows slightly, or 
was it merely the veil that occasioned the move- 
ment ? In any case she smiles, and then the train 
rustles on and disappears into the dressing-room. 

Valleral’s gaze follows her as the sunflower turns 
to the sun. 

“ The deuce, Vorbach ! A wholly new apparition 
here in the palace ?” says he, turning with a smile 
to a young offlcer, who comes up to him and greets 
him. “ That lady whom I love I do not know. 
Who is she?” 

The officer shrugs his shoulders amusedly. 

Nie soils t du mich erfrage^t, 

Nock wissens Sorge tragen,^^ 

he sang with more expression than voice. 

“ Who and what is she ? In case she is a widow, 
a good par tie. Good gracious, what diamonds !” 

A lackey coughed behind the gentlemen. 

Valleral hastily turned to him. 

“ Well, James, what is on your mind ?” 

The lackey eagerly drew near. 

“The lady was the Baroness von Ohly-Eckhof. 
That is her husband yonder by that pillar, waiting 
for her. They have only recently been presented. 
I think the baron has purchased an estate near the 
city.” 

“Thanks, James. You are a good fellow — ” and 
Lankwitz turned again to von Vorbach, and said in 
an undertone : “ Ohly-Eckhof? It seems to me that 
I have heard the name before, but I cannot remem- 
ber when and where. But the good James is mis- 


3 ^ 


Her Little Highness. 


taken about the recently purchased estate. None 
have passed into other hands in years. There ! That 
fat, discontented-looking little man is the enviable 
husband of the diamond lady. What a mistake. I 
would rather accuse him of being the husband of a 
good cook than such a stunning-looking woman.” 

“ Really, captain ? Connoisseurs of menus are apt 
to be also gourmands of hearts.” 

“ Sh ! There she comes again. What a sweet ker- 
nel in the fur cloak shell !” 

“ But not pretty, captain ; she is rather coarse and 
common -looking. ’ ’ 

“ That certainly ; but that fresh style of beauty 
has its admirers, and I believe madam can be very 
amusing.” 

“ Not to her husband. The}^ seem quite cool and 
disillusionized together ; she would prefer not to 
accept his arm, and only does so because society de- 
mands it.” 

“ A modern marriage. Still more interesting.” 

“ Let us follow, count ! The first hearts over which 
she tramples shall be ours.” 

“ Agreed !” 

As usual, supper was served at small tables in the 
two long wings of the picture gallery. In a small 
niche, formed by two pillars, stood the table which 
Count Lankwitz had selected for his lady, himself 
and a young couple, of whom it was said that they 
were only awaiting a favorable opportunity to an- 
nounce themselves to their long expectant friends 
as betrothed. 

This evening at supper. Count Lankwitz kindly 


Her Little Highness. 


37 


wished to give them this opportunity, for he and 
his companion, Baroness Ohly-Eckhof, were so ab- 
sorbed in their conversation that they had scarcely 
a glance for oysters and lobster, let alone their 
neighbors. 

Baroness von Ohly unfolded her enormous green 
feather fan, and glanced over it coquettishly at 
Valleral. 

“ Oh, short memory, your name is Lankwitz,” said 
she, mockingly. “ Even without knowledge of 
human nature, a blind man could hg,ve told from 
your face that you had no suspicion of what an old 
flame passed you in the corridor.” 

“ All right ! Whoever beside me saw thought it 
was some new, young queen who conquered my 
heart prima-vista. But jesting aside, baroness, when 
a bowed old man like me thinks of a playmate of 
his youth, involuntarily he imagines her like him- 
self, and does not dream that in modern times the 
tale of Ninon de I’Enclos is repeated. We have not 
seen each other since we were sixteen. At that time 
you were a bud, now I see the blossoming rose, and, 
good heavens, at the sight, I fairly imagine that I 
am a fiery young fellow still.” 

“ Is your son married yet?” 

“ O perfidious woman ! Thus you destroy my il- 
lusions ! My son! Yes, baroness, if you use that 
long fellow as measure of my age, I can not main- 
tain my ground with you. Cyril might soon marry 
were he to follow his father’s example, and if you 
were a widow, Madame Ninon, I would send my 
rival on a long tour.” 


38 Her Little Highness. 


“ Let him stay here. My daughter will be quite 
as ready to listen to flattery as her mother.” 

“Daughter?” Lankwitz abruptly set down the 
champagne glass which he had just raised to his lips, 
and for a moment stared speechlessly at the speaker, 
who calmly adjusted the flowers on her corsage. 

“ Daughter ?” he repeated, slowly. “ Good heavens, 
since when? I never heard a syllable of it.” 

“You seem to have taken little interest in my 
life. My daughter completed seven proud years of 
life last month, and although her heart seems to be 
of straw, so that a spark would be dangerous, I will 
not send Mignon over the sea, but will present her 
to you as soon as possible at dessert.” 

“ Mignon ? Is the young lady’s name Mignon ? 
Charming ! Dearest mother-in-law,” the count gal- 
lantly stooped and kissed her hand, “ permit me to 
drink to the health of my little future goddess, and 
pray you to assist my courtship at the proper time.” 

She shrugged her plump shoulders with a coquet- 
tish glance. 

“ I make no promises, for I cannot know whether 
twenty years hence my daughter will develop a 
taste for antiquities.” 

“ I call that malicious.” 

“ I call it prudent. If the ‘ old, bowed man ’ shows 
such a poor memory for the mother, how can he re- 
member an offer of marriage for twenty years? 
Besides to return — ” 

“ To our lobster?” 

“ Pardon, to your son. Where is Master Cyril 
now?” 


Her Little Highness. 


39 


Valleral laughed animatedly. 

“ He does not suspect how badly I am being 
treated at the moment, or he would come to 
my assistance. But, unfortunately, the military 
academy is an hour’s ride from here, and as possibly 
the professors suspect what a dangerous species of 
mother-in-law lurks here, they strictly guard the 
young fellows from the dangers of a court ball.” 

“ Very rightly. So he is a pupil at the Military 
Academy. Is Lankwitz, junior, as handsome and 
irresistible as his father?” 

Cyprian gave her a bewitching look. 

“ Not quite so handsome, but far more agreeable 
than the old one.” 

“ That will not be saying much. Apropos, I sup- 
pose that as a polite gentleman you will call at my 
house. Suppose, in consideration of our old friend- 
ship, I were to assume that you had already done 
so, and invite you and your son to dine with us 
day after to-morrow ?” 

“Then you would be most charming.” 

“ Agreed then. And now, pray, bring me an ice.” 

“ Not for nothing.” 

“ Oh, oh, a tip ? Then it would be cheaper for 
me to beckon to a waiter.” 

“ There is none near, and the duke and his family 
have almost finished supper.” 

“ Very well, then, you shall have five cents, but 
pray, be quick.” 

“ Five cents?” 

“ It is ignoble to practice extortion upon a fam- 
ishing woman. What do you wish ? 


40 


Her Littte Highness. 


His eyes flashed mischievously, and he bent 
nearer. 

“ The kiss which is inseparable from the ice.” 

Baroness von Ohly threw her head back in feigned 
horror. 

“Shocking? You dare offer that to me, your 
future mother-in-law?” 

Now he had the best of her. 

“ Offer it to you ? Heaven forbid. Who thinks 
of a mother-in-law when kisses are in question?” 
said he, with a shudder. 

She leaned back in her chair highly amused, the 
green velvet shimmered around her youthful figure, 
the diamonds flashed on her white neck. 

“ Certainly only he who has one. Those others 
who would gladly have one might be forced to kiss 
empty air. So you are modest in your demands. 
From whom do you ask a kiss ? From my lap-dog?” 

“No.” 

“ Alas, I have no other creature at my disposal.” 

“ Lovely mother ! She thinks all day of her lap- 
dog, but not of her daughter.” 

“ Ah— Mignon !” 

“ ‘ No one my grief can feel, that knows not yearn- 
ing.’ ” 

The young woman shrugged her shoulders, half 
compassionately, half benovently. 

“ I am convinced that my little one, who has had 
to kiss so many old uncles already, would calmly 
pay for the portion of ice for her poor, famishing 
mother.” 

“Excellent! Pray live but five minutes more. 


Her Little Highness. 41 


baroness, until I can draw up a note for your signa- 
ture.” He drew out his pocket book, and hastily 
scratched these words on a leaf of paper : “ I permit 
Count Cyprian von Lankwitz to kiss my daughter, 
Mignon.” “ Please sign it, Madame Minon?” 

“ It certainly sounds .shockingly flippant, but in 
consideration that my daughter is but seven years 
old, and I am fairly feverish for want of an ice — la 
voild — signed not with blood, but a lead pencil. 
Mignon will be home from her boarding-school at 
Easter, and then you can present your note.” 

Valleral carefully folded the paper, and put it in 
his breast-pocket. His handsome face shone with 
mischief and triumph. 

“ I have no intention of doing so, mother-in-law.” 

“ What? You will not present the note to be re- 
deemed ?” 

Bending close, to her, the count replied, laugh- 
ingly : “ The note shall certainly be redeemed, bar- 
oness, but neither at Easter nor at Whitsun, but in 
ten years, dearest mother-in-law, and then perhaps 
Mignon will not kiss the old uncle as calmly as 
now.” 

“ Treachery ! Shameful deceit ! I shall swoon.” 

Pray, wait a moment. I fly to fetch the ice.” 
And slowly, step by step, laughing and glancing 
back at her, he left his companion, who was in de- 
spair at this moment that she was at a court enter- 
tainment, and so could not even shake her napkin 
at the most light-hearted of all cavaliers. 



CHAPTER IV. 

Dancing had begun again. 

Count Cyprian had always been extremely fond 
of it, and during the first half of the ball, before 
supper, he had been an unwearied dancer, but after 
supper he was nowhere to be found. In a small 
room which connected the art gallery with the 
Japanese-room, he sat in a comfortable armehair, 
and stared thoughtfully at the polished floor, while 
his thoughts wandered far back into the past. Like 
a man who suddenly stands before a picture which 
shows him a bit of of youth and home, Cyprian had 
gazed at Baroness Ohly’s faee, and all that lay be- 
tween the past and this meeting again had been re- 
called to his mind as though by magic. 

She teavSed him with his bad memory. Had it 
really become so poor in the course of years ? Oh, 
no ; after a few moments’ reflection, the past rose 
vividly before his eyes. 

Florence von Oiily, nee von Bahrenberg. Cer- 
tainly, he remembers her as a sprightly, red-cheeked, 
not very pretty girl, when he was introduced to her 
at dancing-school. vShe and her sister Claudine had 
been the least-sought-after young girls. Claudine 
[42] 


Her Little Highness, 


43 


still plainer ; both awkward, quiet and shy as most 
children who have been brought up in country soli- 
tude, and then are brought in contact with strange 
city children. 

The sisters’ family affairs were sad. They had 
early lost their mother, not through death ; she had 
run away from her father, and had declared that 
she did so because she could no longer endure his 
tormenting jealousy and pessimism. 

She had made various attempts to secure her chil- 
dren, or at least one of them, but in vain. Baron 
von Bahrenberg, with vengeful hate, intercepted all 
correspondence between mother and daughters, and 
even did not permit the half-grown girls to visit her 
death-bed. 

Solitary, joyless, wholly under the influence of 
their embittered father, the twin sisters grew up. 
A compassionate aunt once made the attempt to 
give the poor young things some enjoyment, and 
invited them to spend a winter with her in the 
capital. 

It was said that the father only gave his consent 
after a hot discussion, when he was given to under- 
stand that the girls were in great need of music and 
painting lessons, and even then, only on condition 
that the girls should have no intercourse with the 
outer world. But the aunt took them to the theatre 
and to a private dancing class. Florence was of a 
lively, enthusiastic nature ; she enjoyed these new 
impressions hugely, and was indescribably thankful. 
But the much graver and melancholy Claudine felt, 
with bitter mortiflcation, how unsuited she was to 


44 


Her Little Highness, 


such surroundings, what a contrast there was be- 
tween her and other young girls, and how she was 
slighted on aecount of her plainness. 

She complained to her father, and, in high indig- 
nation, he ordered the twins home, and from that 
time was at enmity with the aunt. His daughters 
should know nothing of the world — this false, de- 
ceitful, frivolous world. They should never marry ; 
they were too wealthy and plain. No suitor would 
woo them for love, and the ehildren would be ehosen 
for heartless, mercenary motives, as their deluded 
unhappy father had been. 

Thus, under his influence, the young girls made a 
solemn eompact never to marry, but always to live 
together on the paternal estate. Their great wealth 
would guarantee them a life free from eare, calm, 
troubled by no storms of love, or the boundless 
misery of treachery. 

This father divided his large property exaetly in 
halves, and as the old castle was somewhat tumble- 
down, he built a new one for his daughters, consist- 
ing of two equal parts, divided in the center of the 
building by a wall. Each side was exaetly like the 
other, even to every piece of furniture, every pic- 
ture, every nail, fairly. Thus, if, when his stern 
oversight was lacking, the sisters should quarrel, 
each could have her own dwelling, and there could 
be no dispute in regard to possessions. 

Cyprian dimly remembered that this strange ar- 
rangement had been much discussed and ridiculed, 
at the time, and when the old man died, the daugh- 
ters had been objects of much interest, and it had 


Her Little Highness. 45 


been pronounced unnatural indeed when the two 
girls, still in their twenties, had actually lived on 
in cloisterlike solitude, in accordance with their 
father’s wishes. 

Then a year or so later the name of Bahrenberg 
was once more a subject of conversation. 

Florence eloped. 

The little love affair began very poetically. A 
young artist sat day by day in a distant part of the 
park and sketched the quiet lake and ducks, which 
were daily fed by Miss Florence. They became 
acquainted, and as the young lady found these 
meetings highly interesting, she kept the secret 
from her stern sister, and partly from ennui, partly 
from longing to be released from her solitude, 
fancied herself in love with the first young man 
who had ever crossed her path. 

Baron Ohly , a Swede, was neither clever nor hand- 
some, but he knew how to strike while the iron was 
hot, and his eyes became more speaking, his love- 
making more urgent, until Florence could no longer 
resist him. As she feared violent scenes with Claud- 
ine and her energetic opposition, she resolved to 
elcne, and only tell her sister when she was actually 
married. 

And so it was. Claudine von Bahrenberg looked 
upon her sister’s flight as a piece of scandalous 
treachery, and obstinately refused all efforts at re- 
conciliation. Solitary and misanthropical, she shut 
herself in her part of the castle. Florence received 
her rental quarterly from an agent, but never heard 
directly from her sister again. 


46 


He7' Little Highness. 


Her careless nature was easily consoled for this ; 
the strange, gay splendors of the world so captivated 
her that she gave herself up to enjoyment. 

It was said that Baron Ohly had planned the whole 
affair very slyly to secure the wealthy heiress, and 
certain it was that his finances needed replenishing, 
for he loved an easy, material life ; but although his 
wife soon penetrated his design, she did not take 
his strategy to heart. Through him she had been 
saved from an unbearably monotonous life, and 
thanks to his good name and excellent position, was 
everywhere received ; so, since he was the most good 
natured of men when he had a good dinner, they 
lived on most amicable terms. 

Live and let live. Baron von Ohly was too phleg- 
matic to be jealous ; besides, being rightly sure of 
his wife’s fidelity, so she might receive as much at- 
tention as she liked, it amused her so ; and when 
Florence was amused, he always could be sure of 
good dinners, for the meym was an index to her hu- 
mor. 

She looked after her property herself. Her hu.s- 
band lived well, and asked nothing more but peace. 
It was, to be sure, a trial to him to accompany his 
wife to such long dances, but he recompensed him- 
self at the supper-table. 

So harmony ruled in the house of Ohly, and 
although the marriage was far from being a loving 
one, both parents were most sincerely devoted to 
their pretty little daughter, upon whom they con- 
centrated all their tenderness. 

Cyprian slowly emptied the glass of punch he held 


Her Little Highness. 


47 


in his hand. Yes, he had recalled it all now, and 
was better prepared to gaze into Madame von Ohly’s 
mischievous, sparkling eyes. He rose to leave the 
room, but turned in astonishment. 

“ Here, young sir ! It happens that the count is 
here quite alone,” whispered a lackey, and as Val- 
leral looked up he saw his son Cyril hesitating in 
the doorway. 

“ Papa, will you come out here in the corridor a 
moment ?” he whispered. 

“ Good heavens, my bo}^ ! What on earth brings 
you here at a court ball at midnight ?” 

Instead of answering the young cadet flourished 
a telegram, 

“ What ! A telegram ? To you ? Come in, my 
boy, it is absurd for me to come out in the hall. 
You look quite proper for a drawing-room, and 
besides, have a certain right to the court parquet. 
Come here and sit down, boy. A telegram ? What 
can that mean ?” 

He took the ominous sheet very calmly, but Cyril 
hastily drew nearer, and said : 

“ The messenger has looked all over the city for 
you for two hours, as one of the newly engaged 
lackeys, who did not know you in uniform, declared 
that you were not here. Finally the man came to 
the academy, that he might at least notify me of 
the important contents of the telegram, and ask 
where you were to be found. The principal thought 
it safest to send me to you with the news.” 

Meanwhile Cyprian had read it. 

“ Very good, my boy. I am much obliged to you 


48 


Her Little Higlmess. 


and the director. Good heavens! Yes, all Neu- 
deck in flames, and my poor, invalid mother taken 
half dead to the village tavern. Horrible ! What 
time is it now ? Twenty minutes past twelve ! I 
can take the mail-train and be in Neudeck to-mor- 
row morning at seven. Poor old lady, it will 
frighten and excite her not a little ! Well, Cyril, 
have a glass of champagne and go back to bed. You 
look so fine, my boy, that I would rather present 
you in the drawing-room.” 

The speaker gazed with a proud smile at the 
slender yet athletic figure of his son, who towered 
several inches above him. He was still somewhat 
awkward, but the becoming uniform of the military 
academy made him appear very well, and as Cyril 
was excited, his dark eyes were unusually bright. 

His face was pale, with rather large features, and 
not nearly so handsome as his father’s. It wore a 
look of almost gloomy gravity, a cool, distant reserve 
which was usually ascribed to arrogance or ill nature, 
especially as Cyril had not the slightest gift for 
making himself agreeable. He had too little of this 
gift, of which his father had too much. 

Now he turned to the door at his father’s remark 
with a horrified expression, as though to enter a 
ballroom were something highly unpleasant. 

“ Thank fortune that etiquette directly forbids 
such a step,” said he, in the dry, pedantic tone he 
so frequently used. “ Good night, father. Give 
poor grandmamma a thousand greetings, and if you 
need my help — ” 

“ Perhaps I will come to you, my boy, if the old 


Little Highness. 


49 


castle was too poorly insured to build a new one at 
your expense,” laughed Lankwitz, senior. “ Good 
night, Cyril. I trust you will get home safely.” 

Cyril hastily turned to go, but started back in sur- 
prise, and stood as though rooted to the ground, 
staring as though he saw a vision. 

Through the portitres darted a lovely, slender, 
girlish figure. With a giggle she rushed up to Count 
Cyprian and clung joyously to his arm — Princess 
Rafaela. 




CHAPTER V. 

Cyprian, too, gazed for a moment in speechless 
amazement at the laughing face that gazed lovingly 
up at him. 

“ Princess ! How in the world do you come here 
in the gallery alone at this hour he said at length, 
mastering his embarassment at her little highness’s 
confidential manner. 

“ How did I come here,” she laughed, Mr. fool- 
ish count? Here — on my two feet,” and with un- 
conscious coquetry, she struck out one tiny, gold 
embroidered slipper, over which her silk stocking 
hung in folds, showing that it had been put on very 
hastily. ‘‘ On my feet, straight down the iron fire 
staircase. Miss Long and Madame de Claude are 
sleeping like tops, thank goodness. I could run away, 
and they would not suspect it until morning. Bah ! 
They may make as much fuss as they like afterward. 
I have had my way now and that is the principal 
thing.” 

She shook back her curls, and for the first time 
glanced indifferently at Cyril, who still stood mo- 
[50] 



51 


Her Little Highness. 

o 


tionless on the same spot, and seemed to have quite 
forgotten to go. 

“ Do you command me to inform her highness the 
duchess of your presence, princess?” laughed the 
captain, now quite master of the situation, and 
stooping, he kissed the little hand which still clasped 
his arm convulsively. “ Surely you have a very 
important communication on your mind, little prin- 
cess, that you seek an interview with their high- 
nesses at such an unusual hour.” 

“ Oh, rubbish ! Do not make a noise for mercy’s 
sake, and let my brother and Ren^e go on dancing. 
I do not want to see thein^ count.” 

“ Yes, but — pardon, princess, for whom is this un- 
usual and surprising visit to the ballroom ? Do you 
want — ” 

“ I want to sit down most of all.” She directed the 
captain very decidedly toward a divan, and seated 
herself beside him, leaning against him so confi- 
dently that Cyprian hardly knew how to preserve 
a sufficiently respectful bearing. “For whom is 
my visit?” she continued, with bewitching naivete. 
“For whom but you, dear Valleral. Ha, ha, ha! 
What a comical expression your face wears 1 You 
are surprised that I know your nickname ? Oh, I 
know all about you, and I have often watched you 
ride past the park, and once I ran and hid on 
the platform when you were trying new horses at 
the riding-school, and they made such a fuss in 
the castle because they could not find me. Madame 
de Claude is too stupid.” 

Cyprian had long ago given a lackey a significant 


52 


Her Little Highness, 


glance, and the man had hurried off. Now the cap- 
tain laughed heartily, and clasped his hands to free 
his arm. 

“ That is delicious, princess. But really I do not 
know how I come by the great, great distinction of 
being honored so — ” 

She hastily interrupted him. 

“ Good heavens, you please me. You are the very 
handsomest cavalier. So say Baroness von Zossen 
and Miss von Bahlen. And so, of course, I have 
fallen head over ears in love with you. I think it is 
lovely that you are called Valleral, and are such a 
gay fellow, and now I should like to see Hosanna. 
People say it is too funny that you and your son are 
such contrasts.” 

Cyprian was highly amused, but he was relieved 
to be able to turn the alarmingly frank conversation 
of his little neighbor to another subject. 

“ My son Hosanna ? It is curious that your 
highness has heard this absurd bon mot. Convince 
yourself as to whether we are so different. There 
is my son. Cyril, pay your respects to her high- 
ness.” 

Rafaela slid down from the sofa, and advanced to- 
ward the young man, staring at him with wide- 
eyed curiosity. He did not move, except to make 
a slight, awkward bow. Her highness’s unrestrained 
staring confused and pained him. He threw back 
his head almost rudely. 

“ So that is Hosanna !” said she, slowly. “ H-m ! 
I imagined him quite different ; like a divinity stu- 
dent, with his hair smoothly parted in the middle. 


53 


Her Little HzHiness. 


What are you doing at the military academy ? Are 
you not going to be a clergyman ?” 

“No!” said the young fellow shortly, roughly, 
and not at all respectfully. 

Rafaela turned her back on him and rushed back 
to Cyprian, who had risen and hastily whispered 
something to a lackey. The man rushed off, but the 
guests assembled from all sides, overcome with 
amazement and surprise to see Princess Rafaela in 
the gallery after midnight. 

Her little highness nodded carelessly to the wife 
of the court chamberlain, ignored her horrified ex- 
clamation, and turned laughingly to Cyprian. 

“ I like you a thousand times better, co7tte mio, and 
I shall tell my brother so.” 

“ Ah, what will you tell me ?” said the duke’s 
voice behind her, and the guests drew back respect- 
fully to make way for the royal pair. 

Duchess Renee laughed aloud. 

“ Mais mon Dieu, petite ! How you look ! ■ Who 
dressed you so remarkably? Slippers 1 Your frock 
only half fastened, and how do you come here alone 
without leave and at such a time?” 

Duke Henry looked far more amused than angry. 
He took the hand of his little sister tenderly, and 
asked : 

“ You wished to tell me something, darling. Is 
it then so important that you choose such an un- 
usual time to see me ?” 

The charming enfant terrible laughed. 

“ But, dear Henry, I had no idea of going to you 
or Rende.” 


54 Her Little Highness. 


“ Not to me ? Why, whom were you looking for ?” 

Before Cyprian could prevent it, Rafaela thrust 
her arm in his, and leaned against him so tenderly 
that he flushed crimson with embarrassment. 

“ My dear friend, Valleral,” said she. “ You must 
know, Hal, that I am awfully fond of him, and when 
I am grown up I am going to marry him.” 

“ The deuce !” The duke roared with laughter, 
all the bystanders joined in, and Count Lankwitz 
struggled with his embarrassment, and bowed low 
before his sovereign. 

‘‘ This latest resolution of the princess is quite as 
much of a surprise to me, your highness, as to my 
sovereign.” 

“ I believe you, my dear Lankwitz.” 

“ Grace a Dieu^ the child is delicious,” and Duchess 
Renee tried to coax the child from the count’s side. 
“ But I should think at your age there was no such 
hurry about your wedding that you need startle us 
in such a manner.” 

“ No, chMe, I merely took occasion to mention 
that. My wish to see the count was for quite an- 
other reason.” 

“ Aha ! Then I am curious !” said the duke laugh- 
ingly. 

“ You must know, Hal, that I know very well what 
Valleral thinks, does and wishes.” 

“ Good gracious !” 

And that, because I am so fond of him. I must 
see that he gets what he wants.” 

“May we congratulate you, count?” 

“ You congratulate him, Hal ?” Rafaela went up 


Her Little Highness, 


55 


to her brother, and gave him a most reproachful 
glance. “ You, least of all, for you did not do what 
I asked you.” 

“ Aha ! I understand you must not ask impossi- 
bilities.” 

“ ‘ Impossibilities !’ ” echoed Rafaela, with charmin 
sarcasm. 

But the duchess asked with interest : 

“ What was it, Henri? You did not tell me.” 

The duke shrugged his shoulders somewhat im- 
patiently, but the little princess cried triumph- 
antly : 

“ I will tell you, Renee.” 

‘‘ Pray be silent now, Rafaela.” 

But Rafaela neither noticed her brother’s reprov- 
ing glance, nor did she keep silence. 

“ Miss von Bahlen told Baroness Zossen, the other 
day, that my Valleral was very depressed because 
at the last giving-out of orders he received no dec- 
oration. He would like the order of our house. I 
asked Hal right away to give the count a couple of 
orders, but my brother declared that could not be 
done, so on the spur of the moment, and as he 
absolutely would not be persuaded, I had to help 
myself.” 

The duke had bitten his lips somewhat vexedly, 
and had tried to stop the child several times. Now 
he looked up in surprise. 

“ Help yourself ? What do you mean ?” he asked, 
somewhat uneasily. 

The little princess’s sweet face beamed with satis- 
faction. The duchess exchanged a hasty glance 


56 


Her Little Highness. 


with her husband, and the group of spectators drew 
nearer. Lankwitz was on thorns. 

“ How will I arrange matters myself for my dear 
Valleral? Very simply. Here!” Her little high- 
ness raised her tightly closed hands triumphantly, 
and turned with an air of great magnificence to the 
count. “ I, the Princess Rafaela, bestow upon you 
as many orders as you want, dear count. Unfortun- 
ately Fatty only had four, but at my next opportun- 
ity I will bring you another handful, you rilay de- 
pend upon it.” 

And the speaker forced some orders into the 
speechless Cyprian’s hand. 

“There, take them!. You are not even pleased !” 

“ Good heavens, what a surprise !” cried the duke, 
half amused, half surprised. “ Show me, my dear 
Lankwitz, what kind of chocolate medals have been 
lent you.” 

“ I believe very sweet ones, indeed, your high- 
ness,” laughed Cyprian, crimson with embarrass- 
ment, laying the orders in his prince’s hand. 

The latter glanced at them. 

“ What ? Is it possible ? Real, genuine decora- 
tions — ha, ha — our family order, the cross of the first 
rank — the order for twenty -five years of meritorious 
service and — bless me — the medal for art and sci- 
ence — Rafaela, child, where did you get this 
strange collection ?” 

“ Did I not say so !” laughed the princess, clap- 
ping her hands with satisfaction, while the duchess 
cried in a tone of unmistable delight : 

“ Henri, the enfant terrible has taken them from 


Her Little Highiiess. 


57 


their owner. Did you not hear how she bemoaned 
that ‘ Fatty ’ only had four 

“ Truly ! Rafaela, who is ‘ Fatty,’ and where did 
you get the orders?” 

The delinquent laughed loudly, and pointed 
among the guests. 

“ There is Fatty ! Ha, ha ! Look at his face !” 

All eyes were turned upon the corpulent form of 
old Counselor von Krachlan, who, very pale, with 
trembling knees, leaned against the pillar at the 
doorway, and glanced about confusedly. His brand- 
new coat presented a very unfortunate appearance. 
On the breast, where had been displayed a row of 
orders, now yawned a hole which afforded a fine 
view of the lining. 

‘‘ Good gracious, my good Krachlan, what is the 
matter?” cried the duchess, bursting out laughing, 
and her husband laughed heartily, hurried up to 
him, and offered both hands. 

“ Poor Krachlan ! You were doubtless the prin- 
cess’s victim. Rafaela, did you take the orders from 
this gentleman, and how was it possible?” 

The little man bowed low before his sovereign, 
casting a mournful glance at her little highness. 
Rafaela still laughed so gayly that involuntarily all 
joined in. 

“ Why did he go to sleep ? Miss von Bahlen said 
that after supper he always withdraws to a quiet 
corner and rolls up like a ball for a nap. So I made 
my plan accordingly. I crept away on the sly, and 
snip, snip, my scissors did the rest. Ha, ha ! You 
should have seen, Hal, how he lay there and slept. 


58 


Her Little Highness. 


He purses up his mouth so queerly when he 
sleeps.” 

Universal merriment ! Von Krachlan smiles with 
the air of a martyr, and mops his brow. But the 
duke quickly hands him back his orders. 

“ Here, my dear counsellor, is your stolen prop- 
erty. I beg your pardon most heartily, that the 
little princess has played you such a trick, and will, 
of course, be responsible ” — the speaker smiled, 
meaningly — “that the hole in your coat shall be 
faultlessly repaired. Meanwhile, you have my warm- 
est sympathy.” 

The counselor bowed with beaming face, and 
Duchess Renee too removed the handkerchief from 
her lips, and said a few gracious words to the old 
man, but Rafaela rushed for the orders. 

“ But Hal ! You cannot do that. I gave the or- 
ders to the count, and got them for him myself. 
Why did Fatty go to sleep and not guard them 
better?” 

The duke seized his sister’s arm firmly, while the 
counselor hastily disappeared, bowing deeply. 

“ Now it is the count’s and your turn,” said the 
duke, in the best of humors. “ I will postpone 
until to-morrow, Rafaela, the task of making clear 
to you the meaning and value of decorations. Now, 
as sovereign, I will sanction what a very self-willed 
little princess of my house has done.” 

The speaker turned and whispered something to 
a chamberlain, took from his breast the order of the 
ruling house, and handed it with a smile to the 
deeply flushed captain. 


Her Little Highness, 


59 


“ It is, indeed, a strange time, my dear count, to 
give you this token of my special recognition and 
good will, but unfortunately my sister has antici- 
pated my intentions, and merely hastened the carry- 
ing-out of an already formed resolution. There- 
fore take from the princess’s hands the decoration 
which I give you as one of the most faithful and de- 
voted friends of the ducal family. Hie aspera ter- 
rent ! We heartily hope, dear count, that you, too, 
will never allow unpleasantnesses to prevent you 
from being a true and chivalrous bearer of this 
order.” 

Duke Henry handed the crowned star to the cap- 
tain, and as the latter, deeply embarrassed and 
grateful, bent to kiss his hand, the duke laughingly 
motioned to the little princes's, who stood near him 
with crimson cheeks and radiant eyes. 

“This entire ceremony is so unusual that your 
thanks, too, should be of an abnormal nature, my 
good Lankwitz. Here, offer them to your little 
patroness, with whom it seems to be most advan- 
tageous to stand well. Did we not all see that my 
energetic sister despises no means of fulfilling a 
wish of her protegdi' 

Rafaela received the kiss on her hand, accom- 
panied by most choicely flattering words, with sur- 
prising dignity. Then she abruptly dropped her 
ceremonious manner, grasped Cyprian’s arm with 
both hands and cried, with sparkling eyes : 

“ Now I have gotten an order for you, and you 
must become a general, and then— then I will marry 
you.” 


6o 


Her Little Highness. 


“ Until then, I suggest that you occupy yourself 
with your dolls, baby. And now run back to your 
room. Poor Madame de Claude is in hysterics from 
fright, and you must atone for your most unheard- 
of faux pas to-night by double obedience and good- 
ness.” 

Duchess Renee kissed her little highness very 
tenderly, to atone for her “ terribly severe ” words, 
and the duke gallantly offered Rafaela his arm, 
which she accepted, bowing and waving her hand 
in all directions, and left the room, accompanied by 
several court ladies. 

But Valleral had received an order, he himself 
scarcely knew how. 

The unusual occurrence for a long time excited 
much amusement, and although one was always 
prepared for some eccentric prank on the part of 
her little highness, this surprise had been complete. 
The newly decorated captain became the hero of 
the evening, and was at once summoned by the 
duchess for the next galop. 

He had almost forgotten the Neudeck fire in the 
excitement, until Baroness Ohly’s joking remark : 
“You really should be locked up for arson. You 
even set fire to the princess’s child’s heart,” recalled 
it to his mind, fortunately in time. The court had 
withdrawn. Cyprian made use of the moment, and 
took his leave hastily. 

A lackey helped him on with his coat, and Count 
Lankwitz hurried down the marble staircase. The 
courtyard was deserted. Cyprian did not wish to 
disturb the old hussar, who was dozing in the vesti- 


Her Little Highness, 6i 


bule, so stepped out into the winter night to call his 
own carriage. 

A form quickly appeared from behind one of the 
groups of statuary, and hurried up to him. 

“ Pardon, papa, if I disturb you once more.” 

“ What the devil ! Is it you Hosanna, or your 
ghost ?” 

The captain was in such a joyous mood that he 
did not notice the expression on his son’s face. 

“ I had forgotten to ask you one more favor — ” 

“ And did you stand out here an hour and a half 
for that in the cold night ? What foolishness ! Why 
did you not have me called ?” 

You were in such demand.” 

“ That of course — always — but I always have time 
for my boy, Cyril. But now get in here quickly, I 
will drive you back to the academy.” 

The young fellow silently obeyed, while his father 
hastily followed him into the carriage which mean- 
while had driven up. 

“ And now, out with it, boy !” said he, leaning back 
comfortably. “ What important request keeps you 
standing .sentinel outside the castle?” 

“ I wanted to beg you most earnestly to take me 
with you. If all Neudeck burns, the old archives 
will be endangered. You are not much interested 
in them, but I am deeply. You know I am a pas- 
sionate bookworm and student of heraldry, and in 
my opinion our archives are very valuable. So I 
could devote all my energies to saving them, while 
you cared for more interesting things.” 

A good idea. You know your father. I believe. 


62 


Her Little Highness, 


myself, that I would have rather thrown the yellow, 
musty old papers in the fire than bring them out. 
It is a fine idea. You will be useful, my boy. Your 
calmness will accomplish more than my good-will, 
which, unfortunately, is supported by no practical 
talents. We will report at the academy, and then 
start on our way.” 

“ I thank you a thousand times, dear father.” 

For awhile there was silence. Cyprian yawned 
heartily, and Cyril sat motionless. Suddenly he 
asked, in a strangely hoarse voice : 

“ Princess Rafaela brought you the house order, 
and Duke Henry has really bestowed it upon 
you.” 

Cyprian laughed very amusedly. 

“ Parbleu, I never before was in such luck. Here 
is the order as proof that a man must be lucky in 
life.” 

Again a short pause, then the hoarse voice asked 
once more : 

“ And the princess really loves you ?” 

“ The sweet little thing ! It really seems as though 
she had chosen me for her first love.” 

The count lighted a cigarette, his son leaning fur- 
ther back in the carriage to conceal his face from 
the bright moonlight. 

“ Shall you marry her some day ?” Strangely 
enough, the words sounded as though it was with 
difficulty that they crossed the speaker’s lips. 

A burst of laughter answered him. 

“ Boy, you must be crazy !” 

She herself said she would marry you, and—and 


Her Little Highness. 


63 


there are many examples of princesses marrying 
courtiers.” 

“ Certainly, but such a mesalliance is utterly out of 
the question for Rafaela.” 

‘‘ How so ?” 

“ Because she is heir to the throne in case the 
ducal pair should have no children. The princess 
can marry only a prince of the blood royal, who can 
give the land a legitimate heir, and continue the 
ducal family.” 

A deep breath, then Cyril continued : 

“ Her little highness seems, from all one sees and 
hears of her, to be very obstinate and unreliable. 
And she is also undeniably very passionate, and if, 
when she grows older, her love grows with her, I 
think her capable of the most thoughtless steps. 
She would sacrifice land and throne for her love.” 

“ Two are necessary for that — one who makes, 
and the other who accepts the sacrifice.” 

“ Father, would you really have strength to resist 
her and her love ?” 

Cyprian laughingly shook his head. 

“ What an absurd idea, my boy ! Rafaela is a 
child, and by the time she is grown — ” 

“ In five or six years !” 

“ I will either have been long since married, or a 
burned-out crater, and have played out my role 
of lyric hero.” 

“ You do not believe that yourself. A man of ma- 
ture years is always more attractive to young girls, 
as well as clever women.” 

Lankwitz was highly amused. 


64 


Little Highness. 


Listen to tlie philosopher !” he cried. ‘‘ It will 
suit me very well, Cyril, if you prophesy truly.” 

“ Then you will marry the princess ?” 

It sounded like a suppressed cry. 

“ One does not pine for stars, Cyril, and the prin- 
cess will always be an unattainable star for me.” 

“You will fall in love with her, too.” 

“ I do not dream of it. How did you come by 
such a crazy idea?” 

“ She is so pretty, so wonderfully pretty. I should 
think any man upon whom her eyes had smiled and 
beamed as they did upon you would be powerless to 
resist her charm,” said the boy, very softly. 

Cyprian was far too busy with his own thoughts 
to notice his son’s strange manner. 

“ Yes, she is a charming little elf,” said he, “ but 
not my style. When love and tenderness are offered 
one they lose their charm. I have been too much 
loved, Cyril, to take pleasure in a delicacy served 
every day. Only when I must scour the woods day 
by day, and hunt down the white doe myself, em- 
ploying every strategy, does it charm me. ‘ A 
slight demur, true love will spur,’ says an old prov- 
erb, and it hits the nail on the head in my case. So 
answer your question by that, my son. Were Prin- 
cess Rafaela later to offer me her love as openly 
as now when a child, it would chill my feelings, and 
if she keeps her passion a secret — well, then it will 
always remain a secret.” 

The young man hastily drew his hand over his 
brow and eyes. 

“ You speak only of love, papa. Are there not 


Her Little Highitess. 65 


cases where vanity and calculating motives deter- 
mine a man’s choice ?” 

Lankwitz suddenly grew graver. He opened the 
carriage door and threw away his cigarette. 

“ Certainly there are such cases,” he nodded, “but I 
hope you do not reckon your father among this class 
of suitors. Money, rank or crown do not attract me, 
but only the opposition my lovemaking may en- 
counter.” 

Cyril sat erect with almost passionate violence. 
His pale face, with the great dark, flashing eyes, 
was fairly uncanny. 

“ And if it were the opposition of the whole land, 
of the ruling family which, opposing your suit, placed 
the desired barrier in your way?” 

Valleral calmly smoothed his mustache, 

“ That certainly might endanger very sober com- 
mon sense. Eh bien ! We will wait and see, you 
ambitious monkey. For the present, I promise you 
no princess for step-mother, but — ” 

“You are silent?” 

“ Qui tacet consentire videturL laughed the count 
merrily. “ Boy, you place the knife at my throat. 
But here is the academy. Sit still. Cyril, I will 
leave the message for the principal myself.” 

Cyprian threw open the carriage-door and sprang 
to the ground, but Cyril leaned back and a groan 
passed his lips. He clenched his hands, then raised 
his head defiantly. His pale face wore a look of 
gloomy, fairly hateful passion : 

“ Qui tacet consentire videtur E' he murmured. 
“ Good, then at the right time I will not be silent.” 



CHAPTER VI. 

Several years passed. 

Captain von Lankwitz, in his gay, changeful life, 
scarcely noticed how quickly time flew by, and it 
surprised him greatly to learn, upon his return 
from a two years’ trip to the Orient and South 
America, to the little German capital, that the first 
court ceremony after his arrival was the confirma- 
tion of Princess Rafaela. 

Her little highness was but slightly changed in 
manner and character. The lack of a firm hand to 
control her became more and more evident in the 
course of years, and now that it was too late to in- 
fluence the all too lively and self-willed princess, 
the ducal pair themselves became somewhat anxi- 
ous. 

Duchess Renee had done away with the etiquette 
which seemed to her so stiff and tiresome, hoping 
to introduce the customs of her southern home, 
forgetting that she had a different race of people to 
deal with. 

For the careless, harmless, happy tone at court 
developed in time an unrestrained, frivolous man- 
ner of life, and the young duchess recognized with 
[ 66 ] 


Her Little Highness. 


67 


secret anxiety that her seed threatened to grow to 
weeds towering above her head. 

Duke Henry had of late been so oeeupied with 
affairs of state that society had little interest for 
him, and when he did appear at any entertainment 
it was only to meet his ministers and counselors. 

The duchess did not venture to trouble her hus- 
band with her eares, and she herself was not ener- 
getic enough to take the matter in her own hands. 
It would need a firm, unrelenting hand now, and 
involuntarily her thoughts turned to Rafaela’s 
future husband. 

The princess had lived under no good influence. 
The amusing little scandals which the court ladies 
related without seruple had long since found their 
way to her ears. Her little highness was very frank 
and unconventional in her ideas and expressions, 
and as she was witty and amusing, her vivaeity was 
peeuliarly fascinating. People applauded her pe- 
culiarities, and strengthened her in her eeeentric 
views, and the duehess soon saw that her influence 
eould not fight against this current. 

The princess sat boldly and with eonfidence upon 
the altar where the delighted crowd had enthroned 
her ; and as no one could be angry with her or re- 
sist her fascinations, her good-natured sister-in- 
law was quite under the spell, although unhappy 
and tormented by the thought that she herself 
was the innocent eause of this unfortunate state of 
affairs. 

The ducal pair’s choice for Rafaela’s husband had 
fallen upon a prince whose circumstances made him 


68 


Her Little Highness. 


seem especially suited to become the heir to the 
throne. 

As commander of an army he had shown unusual 
ability and energy. His will was iron, so they said, 
and even so unbending that it bordered on relent- 
less obstinacy. And it was this very quality which 
they hoped would influence Rafaela. The prince’s 
great gravity, and the fact that he had no compre- 
hension for people who could enjoy dancing and 
frivolity, was expected to furnish the balance for 
the princess’s flippancy. 

With despair, the duchess perceived that the 
princess, independent as ever, announced more and 
more plainly her intention of bestowing her hand 
upon her “ dear Valleral.” 

What she had laughed at as absurd baby fancies 
now became a haunting fear, to be prevented at all 
cost. 

Rafaela was not to be depended upon, and al- 
though Count Lankwitz was a sensible and faithful 
subject, yet on his laughing face was stamped the 
motto, homo sum. 

A man like other men, vain and weak, blind and 
deaf to the warnings of duty and conscience, when 
tempted with the best that the world could offer, 
with the love of one of the most fascinating of 
women, with a princely coronet, rank, gold and 
honor — were not these enough to lead away the 
sense of the most honorable of men ? And Valleral 
was no longer on his former firm footing. He had 
lived far beyond his means of late, and it was said, 
had gambled. Would such a man refuse the hand 


Her Little Highness. 69 


of the wealthiest and most beautiful princess if she 
herself offered it to him. 

Strategy must defeat this. It was certainly not 
remarkable that Duchess Renee’s brother, Prince 
Louis Etienne, should pay her a long visit, nor did 
it seem strange that the lively travelled man of the 
world should be particularly attracted to Count 
Lankwitz. 

Louis Etienne distinguished the captain by more 
and more ostentatious proofs of good will, and so it 
scarcely excited any astonishment when it was 
learned that Cyprian would accompany the prince on 
a South -American trip. It was quite natural. Count 
Lankwitz had told such amusing and exciting 
stories of his travels in this part of the globe, that 
it had made the prince desirous of taking such an 
agreeable and original trip. The captain would be 
the best and most entertaining of guides, and one 
hardly knew which most to envy, the prince or his 
companion. It was said that Valleral travelled as 
guest of the prince, and a year’s rest would be most 
beneficial to his purse. 

Rafaela received the news quite calmly and pleas- 
antly. She was very lively when the count drank 
tea with the ducal family and a most select circle, 
the evening before his departure, and laughingly 
gave him one year ’s leave, but onty one year, not 
a day or hour more, under pain of forfeiting her 
favor. 

The duchess and her brother smiled to themselves. 

When there was music after tea, the princess had 
gone out on the balcony, and ordered her protege 


70 Her Little Highness. 


to accompany her. The duchess followed as quickly 
as possible, and arrived just in time to see a rose 
which Rafaela had worn resting in the hand of the 
slightly surprised count ; but Rafaela was not at all 
disturbed by her sister-in-law’s presence. 

‘‘ You should wear the rose, Valleral,” she cried, 
in her arbitrary way. “ If I give you €uch a souve- 
nir you should proudly display it to the world. Do 
you understand?” 

He bent and kissed her little hand, with many 
protestations and tender thanks ; then the duke and 
Louis Etienne stepped out into the quiet moonlight, 
and conversation became general. Although Rafaela 
made no secret of her liking for Cyprian, at least, a 
declaration had been prevented. 

The duchess breathed more freely when a car- 
riage rolled over the castle drawbridge the next 
morning. Valleral was out of the way, and she 
would see that before his return the obstinate prin- 
cess should wear on her finger the wedding-ring of 
Prince Carl Gustav. 

vSummer and autumn passed. Winter came, and 
the palace was brilliantly illuminated on the even- 
ing when the princess, now more than seventeen, 
and mentally mature beyond her years, was officially 
presented to society. 

Her little highness enjoyed, with all her heart, 
all the festivities which followed in rapid suc- 
cession, and the duchess saw with delight that Ra- 
faela’s pleasure did not seem in the least dampened 
by the fact that the count was not there to share 
these festivities with her. Nevertheless, it filled 


Her Little Highness. 


71 


the lady with some anxiety when Count Cyril von 
Lankwitz, after passing His law examination, re- 
ceived an appointment in the capital, and appeared 
in court society. 

“ Now we will be treated to piety,” mocked Ra- 
faela. “ Hosanna will chant his psalni of morality 
to us, and we will don nun’s garments, and follow in 
his footsteps. What a pity that Valleral is too far 
away to set the tiresome fellow right.” 

Nevertheless, she looked forward with undeniable 
interest to the entertainment at which the young 
count would be presented to her. 

She looked more lovely than ever. The rosy 
gauze floated like a cloud around the graceful fig- 
ure ; neck and arms gleamed like white marble. 
The young lawyer stood before her, large, broad- 
shouldered, fairly overpowering in size, yet he was 
distinguished-looking, his manners faultless, al- 
though his coldness, like unapproachable arrogance, 
and his often rough frankness contrasted greatly 
with the smooth, conventional routine of society. 

“ Have you good news of Valleral?” the princess, 
after he was presented to her, asked, in her out- 
spoken way, which contrasted so strangely with her 
ideal appearance. 

The light in the young man’s eyes faded. Instead 
of bowing he threw back his head more proudly, 
and her lips, which at first had smiled so ravish- 
ingly, now were pressed tightly together. 

“ My father seldom writes, your highness, but 
from the few letters I receive he seems very happy.” 

His voice was cold, almost ironical. 


72 


Her Little Highness, 


“ Then has he no longing for home, for the capital 
and — and us?” 

“ Apparently not the slighest, your highness.” 

The princess tossed her head angrily. 

“ Indeed? Is he enjoying himself so much ?” 

A bow, and again Cyril’s lips twiched mockingly : 

“ My father always lives up to the nickname by 
which your highness deigns to call him. He looks 
upon the bright side of life, takes it easily, and for- 
gets yesterday for a pleasant to-day.” 

Rafaela bit her lips vexedly. 

“ Are the two travellers then still in Mexico?” 

“ They seem loath to leave it. I have already 
been indiscreet enough to ask what magnet attracts 
them.” 

Cyril spoke with strange emphasis, and the charm- 
ing questioner’s eyes flashed furiously, but she 
laughed softly. 

“ Well, and has he confessed that the magnets are 
the beautiful Mexican women ?” 

“ Valleral is not quite so flippant, your highness,” 
said Cyril, cold and stiff as a marble statue. '"'One 
Mexican woman suffices to capture his most suscep- 
tible heart.” 

“‘Most susceptible?’” It sounded like a little 
angry scream. “You are right. It seems as easily 
captivated as cooled. All men are as fickle as 
April, so one cannot reproach a single one for this 
quality.” 

“Certainly not, your highness, especially my 
father, who flits like a butterfly from flower to 
flower. As he has no intention of binding himself, 


Her Little Highness. 73 


such a life full of change and harmless love of 
beauty is a delight to him.” 

Rafaela frowned, her face was slightly pale, and 
her eyes flashed as they rested upon the calm, polite, 
innocent-looking face of the speaker. 

“ Certainly, certainly, we would never rob him of 
this pleasure,” said she, hastily. “ We all like to be 
amused, I especially, and therefore I admire the 
motto : ‘ Live and let live.’ When you write to the 
count, tell him that we are very gay here, and that 
fresh roses bloom when the old ones fade.” 

The princess said this very ungraciously, then 
turned and cried with flushed cheeks to the cham- 
berlain : 

“ I wish to dance a galop with Mr. von Malkow.” 

Duchess Renee had stood near, and although ap- 
parently deeply interested in a court lady’s conver- 
sation, not a word of this other had escaped her. 

She scarcely believed her ears. Cyril’s answers 
were invaluable. There could be no doubt that the 
young man was decidedly opposed to the well- 
known report that Rafaela would choose Count 
Lankwitz for husband. He evidently tried to pre- 
judice the little princess against his father. This 
discovery was most consoling. The duchess had 
not counted upon this ally, and with especial gra- 
ciousness she turned to Cyril, and honored him with 
a long, animated and most kindly chat. 



CHAPTER VII. 

The longer the duchess chatted with Cyril the 
more convinced did she become that in this uncom- 
mon young man she had found an ally for her plans. 

Why the young count was so opposed to a mar- 
riage between his father and the princess was a 
mystery to her, for Cyril was perfectly independent, 
his immense fortune was unimpaired, and to be able 
to call a princess “ mother ” is surely a disadvantage 
to no mortal. 

Mother ! Perhaps that was it. The contrast be- 
tween the grave, severe son, and the childish, friv- 
olous, naive “ mother ” would be too absurd, and it 
was not so strange that the serious young nobleman 
dreaded the curse of ridicule. But, whatever his 
motive, the duchess would not trouble herself, but 
rejoice in the fact. One Lankwitz had inspired 
Rafaela with a hopeless love, the other Lankwitz 
should cure this morbid passion. 

Cyril’s position at court was assured when the 
duchess graciously condescended to dance a quad- 
rille with him. Rafaela, who danced opposite them, 
was undeniably cold, and could not display ostenta- 
[74J 


Her Little Highness. 75 


tiously enough the evident disfavor he found in her 
eyes. Several times the duchess noticed — and it 
could not have escaped Cyril — that the willful little 
princess made fun of him and whispered about him 
to her partner. 

The young count’s fdce flushed hotly, and his 
large, dark eyes flashed. This was becoming to 
him, and the duchess could not understand how he 
could be called plain. His face was far too intelli- 
gent to be ugly, although its expression would at- 
tract few. This critical, unapproachable, cold 
manner, which plainly indicated how foolish, shal- 
low and uninteresting the young count thought 
humanity in general, would win few hearts. And 
yet what a flash of warm-hearted delight lighted his 
face when the duchess said to him very graciously : 

“ During your father’s absence you must take his 
place here at court ; and as, happily, you as well as 
he are musical, you will surely take his part in our 
quartette evenings.” 

This was an hour which, to all appearances, Cyril 
well knew how to appreciate, for the duchess was 
quite startled to see how much joy could beautify 
these cold, unfriendly features. 

Cyril had none of his father’s social talents. 
Cyprian’s self-possession and aplomb were wholly 
lacking in him ; and as he did not wish to expose 
himself to ridicule, he held stiffly aloof from the gay 
throng, and watched more than he participated. 
His extreme youth was an excuse for this. At an 
age when most of his comrades were still at their 
studies, he had already a position, had passed his 


76 


Her Little Highness. 


legal examination at an unusually early age, and 
completed his studies with unwearied industry. 

Leaning against the same pillar where, almost 
five years before, he had watched, with feverish 
pulse, the little princess decorate his father in such 
an unusual way, stood young Count Lankwitz this 
evening, and gazed thoughtfully at the gay assem- 
blage. Many beautiful eyes met his with interest, 
for Cyril was not only an original, but also a very, 
very wealthy catch and, as such, highly desirable, 
however distant and unapproachable. 

“ Why do you not dance, my dear count ?” the 
court chamberlain had jestingly asked him. “ You 
devote all day to solitude and your books. In the 
evening the ladies have a right to you.” 

He was not here for dancing. He was not here 
for the laughing, chattering crowd, which he already 
hated from principle, from all that he had heard 
and seen of it, and what it had made of his father 
and the little princess. He was here — yes, why ? 
Cyril bit his lips, and stared gloomily at the grace- 
ful, rosy, gauze-clad form of Rafaela, who, sur- 
rounded by adoring cavaliers, jested and coquetted 
in her gay, thoughtless way. 

There stood the answer to his question. He had 
come for her sake. He had been foolish enough to 
fancy that such a meeting again could make him 
happy. 

“Fool, fool, fool !” jeered the violins. 

Yes, he had been a fool as long as he could re- 
member ; ever since the day of Duke Henry’s mar- 
riage, when he had seen the little princess for the 


Her Little Highness. 77 


first time, sitting in the open carriage, the loveliest 
of all princesses. 

He can see her still, in her white-lace frock, with 
the wreath of roses in her long, floating hair. That 
day Cyril had bought a picture of Princess Rafaela, 
^ind had sat before it for a long, long time, his head 
resting on his hands, staring thoughtfully at the 
sweet, laughing, child face, until it seemed to live 
and move in the frame, and he smiled as he never 
had before, and kissed the face reverently, as though 
it were that of a saint. 

And other pictures followed this first one : from 
year to year the collection of the princess’s photo- 
graphs grew, and with it Cyril’s silent, rapturous 
admiration. Rafaela was the bright image of his 
life. He idealized her with all the passion of his 
imaginative temperament. What pain, then, when 
he first heard of her little highness’s bold pranks, 
which the world laughed at and praised, but which 
seemed so terrible to him, since he himself had never 
known childish caprice. Yet she still remained his 
goddess, and each time he saw her his hopes that he 
might yet find in her the ideal of his dreams, re- 
vived; therefore, when the princess shocked him 
by her thoughtless manner, the fall from his heaven 
was the greater. 

And so it was now. He was vexed that he had 
come. He knew that he was absolutely unsuited to 
the gay crowd here. He knew that Princess Rafaela 
loved his father, and had only wounding words and 
looks for him, that she was no better than all the 
other women he despised, and yet he came to enjoy 


78 Her Little Highness. 


one passing glimpse of her, and then return more 
embittered and wretched than ever. 

Well, at least she shall never suspect that the de- 
rided “ Hosanna,” with the “divinity student air,” 
is one of the many fools whom her lovely eyes have 
bewitched. Love is not far removed from hatred, 
and this evening it seems to him that he could hate 
Princess Rafaela as much as since childhood he has 
loved her. 

There she comes toward him on the arm of an 
adjutant. She apparently wishes to enter the Jap 
anese room, and must pass through the doorway 
close beside Cyril. Her angry glance singles him 
out from afar. She seems again to find something 
ridiculous in him, a short remark convulses the 
young officer. 

Rafaela pauses for a moment in the middle of the 
room, where is a statue surrounded by blooming 
plants. She reaches up and breaks off a twig of 
elder. Her arm is as white and beautifully formed 
as that of the Venus. Never has the young princess 
seemed so beautiful to Cyril. His eyes remain fixed 
upon her as though he were petrified ; he draws a 
deep breath ; she seems still more amused at him. 
She glances at him, and their eyes meet. In his at 
this moment she probably reads something aston- 
ishing, all his passionate, unbound admiration. 

Involuntarily she raises her head abruptly, her 
lips part in amazement, and then curve in a slight, 
indescribable smile of triumph and fearful satisfac- 
tion. 

Cyril sees it, and, in deep vexation with himself, 


Hei' Little Highness. 


79 


the blogd rushes hotly to his face. He turns his 
head indifferently, coldly, with a bored air. Rafaela 
comes toward him on the adjutant’s arm. To allow 
her to pass he must step aside, and does so with a 
stiff bow. Her gown rustles toward him ; the per- 
fume of the elder seems to soothe his excited 
senses ; and as, contrary to his desire, he looks up, 
his eyes meet the princess’s for the second time, so 
strangely that it is as though he had received an 
electric shock. Why does she gaze at him so ? She 
does not feel what her eyes at this moment express. 
She merely wishes to see whether the “ saintly 
Hosanna ” is really as sensitive to worldly emotions 
as his fellowmen, whether possibly it was jealousy 
that made him speak before with feigned careless- 
ness of his father’s fickleness. 

This thought flashes through Cyril’s brain. He 
turns his eyes from hers to her arm, and he sees 
how the bit of elder drops from her hand and falls 
on the floor just before him. 

That was intentional. For a moment the young 
count stands as though stunned, then angry opposi- 
tion comes over him. He fathoms her purpose, and 
is far too proud to be made even more ridiculous in 
her eyes by allowing himself to be made the play- 
thing of her whims. No, she shall not imagine 
that Cyril Lankwitz bows before her triumphal 
chariot. That secret shall remain buried in his 
breast. 

He draws himself up as proudly and coldly as ever. 
His flashing eyes follow her. She pauses, chatting 
vivaciously, and glances back at him, at the elder. 


8o 


Her Little Highness. 


Then she sees something astonishing. With the 
most indifferent air in the world, Count Cyril glances 
down at the elder, calmly pushes it out of the way 
with his foot, and walks slowly back to the gallery, 
without once glancing toward the Japanese room. 

Rafaela stares at him speechlessly. She has 
turned pale with vexation. The boyish Philistine 
has no heart. He opposes her. He is the first, and 
probably will be the only one, who treads under foot 
a flower which fell from her hand. 

Her dark eyes flash with passion ; she does not 
think that there are mirrors on the gallery walls, in 
one of which Count Cyril reads his triumph with 
malicious satisfaction from her reflected angry face. 
* * * * * 

With noticeable favor. Count Cyril was invited to 
court by the duke on every occasion. Society re- 
marked this with a certain astonishment, and could 
hardly understand it. It could certainly not be due 
to this scarcely grown young man’s personality, al- 
though Duchess Renee evidently liked him, in spite 
of his bizarre nature. Princess Hermine, too, who 
received scarcely any one, had received the count, 
and, to every one’s amazement, often invited him to 
her apartments. 

At length the court ladies solved this riddle. 
Young Lankwitz was as passionate an antiquarian as 
the old princess, and when, several years before, at 
the risk of his life, he had saved the old family 
library from the flames which destroyed Neudeck. 
he had discovered some very old writings and docu- 
ments which were of great value for the history of 


Hc 7' Little Highness. 


8i 


the country which, the princess had been working’ 
upon for some time. She had exchanged letters 
with Cyril while he was at the university, and now 
received him as an old friend, and soon felt a warm 
liking for the gifted young man, whose reserve and 
moodiness she judged very mildly and rightly, as- 
cribing it to his extreme youth. 

But although Princess Hermine’s liking for Cyril 
was thus accounted for, it did not explain the re- 
markable favor shown him by the duke and his 
wife. It did not seem possible that a marriage be- 
tween .Rafaela and Captain Lankwitz would be coun- 
tenanced ; and if the princess really thought of 
raising Cyprian to the distinction of being her hus- 
band, she would surely treat her future step-son 
more pleasantly, for she made no concealment of 
her dislike for him ! And the young count him- 
self seemed fairly to invite the princess to fresh 
hostility. 

Probably father and .son knew their ambitious 
plans to be vain, and this causes the 3mung man’s 
unpleasant manner, while the duke and duchess try 
to heal this wound, decides society. The captain, 
too, seems convinced of the hopelessness of his 
efforts, for, although his year of absence has expired, 
he does not return. 

It is rumored that Prince Carl Gustav is expected 
in the course of a month, and that the betrothal will 
follow his arrival. The development of the affair 
is eagerly awaited, and society is anxious to see 
whether Count Cyprian will really yield the field 
to his opponent. 


82 


Her Little Highness, 


The music-room of the palace is brightly lighted. 
The electric lights are reflected in the shining par- 
quet floor, and the mirrors on the walls, while the 
little diamond crescent in Princess Rafaela’s hair 
flashes brilliantly. A long, trailing gown of white 
cashmere, bordered at neck and hem with white 
feathers, falls in heavy folds around her graceful 
figure. She looks as bewitching in her simplicity 
as a white rose in the dew of morning. 

But her manner is in striking contrast. Never 
has the princess hurried hither and thither so nerv- 
ously, never been so restless during the music, or 
spoken so frivolously and mockingly as on this even- 
ing, while her eyes continuously seek, with mock- 
ing irony, the pale, grave face of Cyril, who seems 
interested in any one but her charming self. The 
few ladies to whom he speaks, unless addressed, are 
the Duchess Renee and Princess Hermine, who of 
late had honored these informal evenings with her 
presence. 

With her, this strange young man talked with 
most animation and interest, while with the few 
others present, especially the ladies, he was as silent 
and tiresome as a statue, only answering when he 
was addressed. Princess Hermine had noticed this 
unnatural reserve. She summoned the young man 
to her side. 

‘‘ Do you not like to talk, my young friend T 

“ No, your highness.” 

‘‘Why not? Our court is acknowledged to be 
rich in beautiful, charming and amusing young 
ladies.” 


Her Little Highness, 83 


“ There are no amusing people for me, your high- 
ness,” said Cyril in his frank way, which so often 
offended, for the only theme which interests me is 
not suited to a drawing-room chat. To waste so many 
words over subjects which are most indifferent seems 
to me too much of a punishment. I cannot talk 
small talk, and modern society demands phrases and 
jokes which I cannot care for.” 

“ Why, then, are you here ?” asked the princess as 
frank as he had been. “ Can you amuse yourself 
when you thus isolate yourself?” 

There are people, your highness,” he murmured, 
with bowed head, “ who eat, although they have no 
appetite, lest they starve. One can be mentally 
hungry. As I am in the world, I cannot wholly 
withdraw from it.” 

The princess smiled thoughtfully. 

“ Strange, a young man with an old head. Who 
has given you such ideas? You are Valleral’s 
son. Never mind ! I think you, too, will join in the 
world’s game of chess when the queen, your true 
queen, appears, and makes the ‘ old man ’ a young 
fellow again.” 

“ Bravo, Aunt Hermine ! To be sure, I do not 
know what you are talking about, but if it needs a 
queen to make this gray-haired saint lively, here am 
I. Your arm, count ; for the moment I order you to 
the service of this queen.” 

Rafaela bent over the princess’s chair, and her 
dark eyes flashed very near Hosanna,” while her 
face wore an expression of strangely mingled mock- 
ery and feverish impatience. 


84 


Her Little Highness. 


The sudden flush which had risen to Cyril’s face 
yielded to a deep pallor. He rose, bowed as stiffly 
and formally as ever, but the arm which he offered 
the little princess trembled, and his eyes flashed 
strangely. 

Princess Hermine nodded to herself. 

“ His manner is unnatural. However weighty 
subjects his brain may be busy with, his heart is 
young ; perhaps too young ; one can see it in his 
eyes.” 

Rafaela laid her little hand firmly, fairly, im- 
periously upon his arm, threw back her head, and 
asked : 

“Where are you taking me?” 

He stared over her head, with lowered lashf^s, as 
though the flash of her diamond crescent dazzled 
him. 

“ I do not lead, princess, I merely obey, and follow 
whither you command.” 

Was he jesting, or did he again administer a re- 
proof in his pedantic way ? Her eyes flashed an- 
grily again, and, like a naughty child, she clasped her 
hands and gazed up at him, murmuring : 

“ Well, then, let us wander into this little houdoir 
alone, ‘ with thee so late, and tete-h-tete ’ of which 
they tell the dreadful tale that two people once 
kissed each other in there — but if it seems too 
dreadful to you, I will send for my old nurse to 
chaperon you.” 

He 'set his teeth, raised his head proudly, and 
without a word of reply entered the little room with 
her. 


CHAPTER VIIL 


The music sounded soft and caressing in the 
boudoir. One of the guests was playing the violin most 
excellently. And soft and dreamy as the music were 
the rose-shaded lights, the perfume of narcissuses 
and May-bells which filled the room, while the ideal 
form of the princess was like a dream figure, as she 
noiselessly crossed the room. But the brusque way 
in which she freed her hand and threw herself 
down upon a sofa banished the nimbus ; and as she 
looked up at him with her great passionate, angry 
child eyes, it seemed as though a cold wind struck 
Cyril’s hot heart, as though it rose up in bitterness 
against her. He withdrew a step further and stood 
respectfully, but with a distant air, at her side, his 
grave gaze fixed upon the music-room, as though he 
were interested in nothing but the music. 

Rafaela’s little foot moved impatiently beneath 
her white gown. 

“ Well?” said she sharply. 

Slowly he turned his head, and in astonishment 
she met his cool, blank gaze. 

“ Yes, your highness !” 

She laughed ironically. 

'‘Oh, yes, I forgot that you never have anything 

[85] 


86 Her Little Highness. 


to say ; that you find silence golden ; I, tiresome. 
Never mind ; at least you have some ability to 
answer questions?’' 

“ I hope I am sufficiently well-bred to follow the 
dictates of good form.” 

She leaned back and glanced at him pityingly. 

“ Oh you are terribly well-bred, so well-bred that 
your presence always frightens me, the enfant ter- 
ribler 

“ It would then seem doubly advisable for your 
highness to avoid me as much as possible.” 

His cool self-possession made her nervous. Her 
eyes flashed, and although she breathed so quickly 
that she could scarcely speak, she tried to appear 
composed. 

“ Until now I have done so to the best of my 
ability, and if I try to bear the pleasure of a conver- 
sation, it is on the father’s, not the son’s account.” 

His lips twitched slightly. 

“ How unfortunate that my father suspects noth- 
ing of this sacrifice,” he replied politely. 

“ You can write him of it.” 

“ If your highness commands I will telegraph. I 
have little time for correspondence, and write my 
father only important matters.” 

“ I never expect flattery from you, so yoiy: scarcely 
flattering frankness does not surprise me.” 

The seventeen-year-old princess spoke very con- 
descendingly, but her charming face was flushed 
with anger. 

“ But to come to the root of the matter, have you 
heard from your father recently.” 


Her Little Highness. 


87 


Day before yesterday, your highness.” 

“ Ah, since the expiration of his leave ?” 

“ Does your highness wish me to give a report of 
the letter?” 

She arose suddenly and looked in his eyes. 

“No. I refuse your report, for — forgive my 
frankness ” — a derisive smile displayed her white 
teeth — “ I do not think your much tormented mem- 
ory reliable enough — you might forget here and 
there something which is very indifferent to you 
but of the utmost importance to me.” 

A silent bow. 

As he did not answer, she continued impatiently : 

“ Are there secrets in the letter?” 

“ Certainly no state secrets.” 

“ May I read the letter?” 

Again this unendurable stare for a moment. Rafa- 
ela was desperate. Without the quiver of an eyelash, 
he drew the letter from his pocket, and handed it to 
her, formally. 

“ I collect stamps myself,” said he, laconically, 
mockingly. 

Hastily she drew the letter from its envelope, 
whose crest betokened the elegant writer, and 
without taking further notice ‘of the address, 
opened it with slightly trembling fingers. The 
envelope fell to the ground, exhaling a delicate 
perfume. 

Cyril leaned calmly against the wall, gazing at the 
face of the reader like one who somewhat mali- 
ciously awaits the development of a comedy. But 
Rafaela read : 


88 


Her Little Highness. 


My Dear Old Boy : Venezuela is a land so fair. All are 
burned brown who go there, and yet we calmly submit to being 
burned alive here in the famous Caracas, partly by the sun, part- 
ly by the celebrated beautiful eyes of the Venezuelans. My boy, 
what women ! Even the most beautiful women of our native land 
are snowflakes which must melt before the ardor of the beauty 
and love of these ! Caracas would assuredly not be to your taste, 
my dear preacher in a lawyer’s coat. Here it is too fragrant of 
jasmine and tropical roses, and there is something demoniac, se- 
ductive in these dames, which your pious young heart could not 
comprehend. Are we coming home soon? I doubt it. At 
present the cigarettes under the palms and oranges of the patio 
are far from having lost their relish, and when the beautiful, fiery- 
eyed women pour the wine here it becomes a draught of Lethe. 
One forgets everything in it. My lord and master has become 
quite too infatuated with the delights of Caracas. He has no idea 
of leaving, and as I am missing nothing, this pause in our travels 
suits me very well. Your accounts of our good capital actually 
seemed like echoes from another world. So the little princess 
dances, and has become a grown young lady? Well, I suppose 
her wedding will come off soon. I hope to be back in time for 
this ceremony, for the sweet little elf would look almost as lovely 
in bridal wreath and veil, I fancy, as labelle Tulilta^ who sings us 
sweet love songs here every evening. That her little highness 
treats yon so eii canailte should not surprise you, my boy. For 
such different natures as yours could not harmonize. There is 
an old proverb: ‘ Only in love can unlike mate with unlike.’ 
Well, I would not wish you a hopeless love for the little princess, 
and thank fortune you are far enough from it. Strange, the little 
thing acts upon all other men’s hearts like a spark upon powder, 
and only you, hardened misanthrope, remain cold as — ” 

The letter fell, crumpled in a ball, at Cyril’s feet. 
Deathly pale, with flashing eyes, Rafael a looked up 
at the young count. 

“ And you give me this — this letter ?” said she, in 
a half -suffocated voice. 


Her Little Highness. 


89 


He bowed politely, coolly, without displaying the 
slightest excitement. 

“Your highness commanded it, and as your high- 
ness doubted the reliability of my ‘ poor memory,’ 
I must — ” 

She did not let him finish. With every sign of 
the highest displeasure, she turned her back 
abruptly upon him, and returned to the music-room. 
But Cyril stooped, picked up the letter, smoothed 
it in his careful, pedantic fashion, and put it in his 
coat-pocket. 

A few minutes later he stood in his accustomed 
place, leaning against the door-post, looking as 
grave, uninterested and bored as usual. No one 
could judge from his cold expression what a storm 
ragen in his heart. 

He had awaited this hour, as the end of torment- 
ing uncertainty. Now the name of Count Cyprian 
Lankwitz was surely forever obliterated from the 
princess’s heart. And his ? His had never been 
written there ; had never been more to her than an 
unpleasant sound, which is unnecessary to forget 
because it has never been remembered. 

If Princess Rafaela had always been hostile to 
Cyril, from this hour her manner was fairly insult- 
ing. But the ducal pair did all in their power to 
heal the wounds her treatment inflicted, a fact which 
unboundedly irritated her little highness, and made 
her display all the more markedly her aversion to 
Cyril, and high in favor as the name of Lankwitz 
had been with her before, it was now most impru- 
dent to mention it in her presence. 


90 


Her Little Highness. 


In vain did society rack its brains for the cause 
that had turned this love to hate, and Prince Carl 
Gustav’s visit was now expected more confidently 
than ever. 

The day at last arrived when the princely suitor’s 
large form appeared in an open carriage, at the 
duke’s side, and was welcomed with loud rejoicings. 

The few select persons invited to the first gala 
dinner were greatly envied, and the day after there 
was much to talk about. 

It was told that Princess Rafaela had sat like the 
beautiful, but wicked fairy queen at the side of her 
destined husband, her lovely face strangely changed. 
The gay, laughing, childish look was gone ; an ex- 
pression of sharp irony and irritableness almost 
robbed it of its youth. The large eyes flashed pas- 
sionately and defiantly, and seemed to promise all 
kinds of eccentricities when once she escaped gov- 
ernesses and mistresses of etiquette, and won her 
freedom through a hated wedding-ring. 

Prince Carl Gustav was her exact opposite. His 
heavy full beard framed a face as grave, fixed and 
immovable as though cast in bronze. His bearing 
was chivalrous, but bore the stamp of obstinacy 
and almost despotic severity, which was in place at 
the head of a regiment, but scarcely so in gay society. 

As he did not care for small-talk, even though 
uttered by rosy lips, he chiefly conversed upon mili- 
tary and political subjects with the duke, who sat 
opposite, and did not trouble himself as to whether 
such unusual topics of conversation would amuse 
his future wife. 


Her Little Highness. 


91 


Rafaela leaned back in her chair, the personifica- 
tion of indifference, barely hiding her yawns be- 
hind her fan, and chatted freely with the gentle- 
man on her other side, upon the tragic endings of 
all marriages de convenance. 

So report rang, and the citizens shrugged their 
shoulders. 

‘‘ He is not suited to her, he does no understand 
her, doubtless she will not marry him.” 

But they were deceived. Three days later, beam- 
ing with satisfaction, Duke Henry announced 
his sister Rafaela’s betrothal to Prince Carl Gus- 
tav. 

A succession of brilliant festivities followed this 
announcement. Carl Gustav submitted to the ova- 
tions with resignation and scarcely concealed dis- 
like, but his charming betrothed enjoyed her young 
life to the utmost, and was almost too gay when a 
telegram running as follows was received from 
Louis Etienne : 

“ We are as amazed as pleased. We had not expected so soon a 
betrothal in the palace. My faithful Lankwitz almost fainted with 
surprise. Pray send news when the wedding is to take place ; 
we should like to be present if possible.” 

Rafaela’s eyes shone strangely. 

“ I am willing that the marriage should be has- 
tened in accordance with the prince’s wish. Mon- 
sieur Louis Etienne and his ‘ friend Lankwitz ’ have 
overstayed their leave too long ; they will not be 
present at the wedding ceremony.” 

This sounded like a command, not a mere hazard. 

Duchess Renee triumphed. The game had sue- 


92 


Her Little Highness, 


ceeded, and the lion’s share in this favorable ending 
was doubtless due to Count Cyril. He should be 
rewarded. 

The next weeks passed as though in a dream. 
The modistes worked with zeal to finish the prin- 
cess’s trousseau in the brief space of time allotted 
them. 

They succeeded. All that the lovely bride wished 
to adorn herself and her home for the happy new 
life beginning for her was in readiness. 

Many, however, doubt the happiness of this life 
when they see the betrothed couple together. They 
are not suited to each other, and Duke Henry, who 
laughingly declares : “ Only in love can unlike mate 
with unlike,” seems stricken with blindness. He 
does not see that this very love, the only possible 
means of reconciling such opposite traits, is wholly 
lacking. Already many disputes seem to arise be- 
tween the couple, carried on by the seventeen-year- 
old Rafaela often with childish obstinacy, by the 
prince with a kind of forced indulgence which 
seems merely biding its time. 

Duchess Renee ordered that the bride’s train be 
carried by four maids-of-honor and four courtiers, 
not pages ; and Count Cyril Lankwitz was one of 
those selected by her for this honor. This choice 
seemed justified as salve to his heart for the numer- 
ous little wounds Rafaela had inflicted. 

And the hour came in which the charming prin- 
cess walked out of the throne-room to take her place 
at the head of the procession awaiting her. 

Among the orange-blossoms in her hair they had 


Hei' Little Highness. 


fastened the graceful, princely coronet, flashing 
with jewels. The filmy lace veil hid only the back 
of her head, and the rich silver brocade train, bor- 
dered with ermine, and very heavy, awaited the 
hands which were to carry it. The beautiful face 
was deeply flushed, and as her angry gaze encount- 
ered Count Lankwitz it grew more crimson. She 
turned quickly to the mistress of ceremonies. 

“ Lankwitz ! Lankwitz !” she cried. “ I told Renee 
that I would not have him as train-bearer, absolutely 
would not. How comes he here ?” 

The old lady bowed respectfully before her angry 
princess. 

“ Pardon, your highness, her highness, the duch- 
ess’s express command must be obeyed.” 

“ Express command ! She has no commands to 
give to-day !” cried Rafaela, furiously. ‘‘ I am weary 
of this eternal tyranny. I expressly entreated the 
duke, as well as my sister, to see that the count was 
not here. Very well, excellency, if my entreaties 
are so little considered, I will have still less consid- 
eration for their commands.” 

“ Good heavens, what will she do ?” groaned the 
court lady, inwardly; but she bowed with silent 
resignation, with a sigh of relief. After to-day she 
need no longer be in constant fear and anxiety for 
this unreliable princess. 

Cyril stood farthest away, behind the other ladies 
and gentlemen. His face was deathly pale, deep 
shadows lay beneath his dark eyes, and his face 
wore a pained look never seen before. When Ra- 
faela appeared in proud splendor in the doorway, he 


94 


He7' Little Highness. 


had involuntarily pressed his hand to his heart. 
But only for a moment. He gazed at her face, and 
drew a deep, deep breath. 

What had he feared ? Fool that he was, the orange- 
blossoms crowned no face radiant with love and hap- 
piness, but merely the brow of a poor princess who 
advanced to the altar, a sacrifice to her land and 
people. No love had wound this bridal wreath. 

Deep pain, passionate pity overcome Cyril, but 
only for a moment. She turns toward him, looks 
at him. No, she does not feel what happiness this 
hour deprives her of ! She will never miss what 
she has lost to-day, and she deserves no other fate. 

Cyril no longer sees with the eyes of the heart 
but with his own cold, severely criticising eyes. 
Anger and bitterness awaken again within him, as 
he meets her angry, scornful glance. He must 
make a mighty effort when the court marshal’s voice 
summons him to take his place with the other train- 
bearers. 

Mechanically he advances toward the shining 
silver brocade train, follows the example of the 
others, stoops and raises it with his ice-cold fingers. 
The silk exhales a delicate perfume. It robs Cyril 
of his breath. He stands like a statue and closes 
his eyes, as though in a dream. A loud, sharp voice 
rouses him ; he gazes straight into Rafaela’s beauti- 
ful, self-willed face. The princess has turned 
toward him. 

“ Good heavens, how terribly awkward ! It is 
fearful the way Count Lankwitz pulls on the train. 
You have not even talent for page. Give it here. 


Her Little Highness. 


95 


I decline your services.” She seized the brocade, to 
pull it from his hand, and for a second her feverish 
little hand touches his icy-cold one. 

He starts suddenly, flinging the ermine border to 
the ground, and Rafaela also starts and draws back, 
gazing with wide-open eyes at his deathly pale face. 

“Your highness, I will show the count,” says the 
mistress of ceremonies, hurrying up, horrified. Too 
late. Count Lankwitz bows deeply, and draws back 
with a decision which admits of no persuasion. 

“ What now ? Who shall take the count’s place ?” 
asks the court lady, uncertainly. 

“No one !” says Rafaela, shortly, and adds with 
unfamiliar bitterness : “ Everything about this 
marriage is unequal and unlike, why not also the 
number of train-bearers?” 

The doors are thrown open. The ceremony be- 
gins. 




CHAPTER IX. 

Duchess Renee was not a little surprised when 
Count Lankwitz was seen to be missing from the 
train-bearers, and even the duke’s face for the first 
time flushed with anger when his wife called his 
attention to the inconsiderate and insulting self-will 
of the princess. 

But this was not the day to call the bride to ac- 
count, and it seemed to the duchess that a sigh of 
relief passed the lips of her husband, also, at the 
prospect of giving the spoiled little household 
tyrant into firmer hands. 

While 'Duchess Renee hastily gave a whispered 
command to a chamberlain to find Count Lankwitz, 
and detain him at any cost, telling him that it was 
the sincere wish of the duke and duchess, the brill- 
iant bridal procession proceeded through the pic- 
ture-gallery and winter-garden to the castle chapel. 

Duke Henry and the reigning brother of the jia7ic^ 
walked on either side of Rafaela. Renee and Carl 
Gustav’s married sister accompanied the prince ; the 
train-bearers completed the procession, while the 
guests were already assembled in the chapel. 

Duke Henry was absent-minded and evidently 
[96] 


Her Little Highness. 


97 


uneasy. Again and again his gaze sought Count 
Lankwitz — in vain, neither he nor the chamberlain 
appeared. His eyes fell upon the bride's charming 
face, which expressed anything but the great, true 
love, which is the only firm foundation of wedded 
happiness. 

Strange thoughts, never entertained before, 
flashed through the sovereign’s brain. Was it not 
terrible to give this young, lovely life into the pos- 
session of a man who had nothing in common with 
her, and who was bound to her by no tender ties, 
merely the cold, proud glitter of a princely coronet, 
which may unite two royal houses, but not hearts ! 

Poor princess, who must sacrifice love and happi- 
ness, all that remains of paradise to this world, that 
she may fulfill her duties to her land and people, 
hard, sad duties ! 

A crown at best is a heavy load. The duke thinks 
of his own words years before to the royal gover- 
ness: 

What dogmatic lessons and stern reproofs will 
not accomplish now, the powerful mistress Love 
will complete. Let Love be the princess's instruct- 
ress.” 

Love ! She does not celebrate her victory here 
to-day, she does not stand beside the unlike pair, to 
bless the bond, she is no guest at this wedding. 
How will it all end ? How will happiness ever come 
to his poor, orphaned sister, whose heart beats as 
passionately in her breast as does that of any other 
woman. 

Has he dofie rightly as a brother to bind this 


98 


Her Little Highness, 


seventeen-year-old child with iron chains before she 
has any clear idea of what bridal wreath and veil mean 
to a woman ? Asa brother? No, a thousand times 
no ! The brother has done wrong where the sover- 
eign has fulfilled his duty. It is a terrible conflict 
between heart and sense of duty. 

The ceremony is ended. Smiling triumphantly 
as a child who has been awarded the rights of a 
grown person, Rafaela allows the ring to be 
placed on her finger. Her “yes” sounds as care- 
lessly pleased as at some trifle, and the grave, stern 
man at her side glances reprovingly at the bride 
who is so flippant at this moment. 

Duke Henry passes his flne handkerchief over 
his brow. The iron force of circumstances has been 
bowed to. Rafaela is the wife of the very prince 
whom policy and the interests of the land had se- 
lected. But is the passionate heart satisfied ? Who 
will teach her that love which is to be her pre- 
ceptor ? 

The duke’s eyes suddenly brighten; he has seen 
Cyril’s grave, calm face. As though a heavy load 
had been lifted from his shoulders, he draws a deep 
breath. It pleases him greatly that the count has 
not turned his back upon the palace in unappeasable 
rage. 

Rafaela has trampled the laws of etiquette under 
foot, in the most rough, obstinate manner. Now 
something unheard-of shall occur to expiate the 
princess’s fault. The duke smiled ; the sight of Cy- 
ril has given him back his confidence and good 
humor. 


Her Little Highness, 


99 


If the Princess Rafaela’s insulting treatment of 
Count Lankwitz had excited whispered comment, 
it created a true sensation when, as the bridal party 
left the chapel. Count Cyril was summoned to Duch- 
ess Renee’s side. 

Society would not wonder enough at this marvel, 
for although accustomed to strange departures from 
etiquette at Duke Henry’s court, the sudden change 
from favor to disfavor, in which Cyril seemed to 
waver perpetually this day, was doubly surprising 
since it had been supposed that the presence of 
strange royal personages at such a ceremony would 
for once exclude all caprice. And he, the apple of 
discord between Rafaela and the ducal pair, how 
did he adapt himself to the situation ? 

Cool, calm and indifferent, he walked beside his 
royal patroness, as though he were strolling along a 
lonely alley, scarcely noticing what a cordial smile, 
what flattering interest, the duchess had for him. 

He had been brilliantly recompensed. If Princess 
Rafaela found him too awkward to carry her train, 
the duchess thought him worthy to walk at her side. 

The bride’s face had paled with anger and dis- 
pleasure, and the crowd of admirers who had long 
since followed her example, and treated Count Cyril 
most rudely, discovered fresh occasion to stand up 
for their princess’s views. 

Officially, young Lankwitz must, alas, be toler- 
ated, for it would be rash to oppose the will of the 
reigning sovereign, but secretly, behind his back, no 
power could influence private opinion, and the prin- 
cess’s party condemned Count Cyril most severely. 


lOO 


Her Little Highness. 


During the wedding dinner he was very silent 
and indifferent, and found the menu far more inter- 
esting than his neighbors, whose conversation and 
piquant jests made him frown more and more dis- 
approvingly. 

He seemed to await with impatience the moment 
when he might withdraw. But as the guests rose 
from the table, a chamberlain leaned over Ijis 
shoulder and whispered to him that his highness, 
the duke, wished to speak with him. 

It was the first time that his sovereign had dis- 
tinguished him by a direct conversation, and it 
doubly pleased Cyril’s bitterly offended heart to be 
thus markedly honored. Possibly this had an 
effect upon his manner, for Duke Henry talked long 
and animatedly with the young man, who seemed 
as able to speak well as to be silent. 

His frankness, often inconsiderate and bordering 
on roughness ; his peculiarly grave views ; his 
honest, brave heart, which more and more disclosed 
itself — all lent him such a pleasing originality in 
the eyes of the duke that he resolved to bestow 
more attention upon this uncut jewel. 

It pleased him that Cyril frankly acknowledged 
that he had irritated the princess by his own man- 
ner toward her, and it pleased him still more that 
he declared with equal frankness that he could 
never change his manner to Rafaela, as their opin- 
ions were wholly different on every subject, and he 
was not capable of flattering where he really blamed 
and condemned. 

Such an admission had never before been made 


Her Little Highness. 


lOI 


to the duke by mortal, and in former times it would 
have been rash ; but to-day the count’s words found 
an echo in the duke’s heart. He sighed heavily and 
drew his hand over his brow, as though the thoughts 
back of it pained him. Why did fate bring this 
strange young man in his way at so late a day ? 
Had he been a playmate of Rafaela his influence 
rnight have been most beneficial. They might have 
mutually benefited each other. 

Too late! Too late! Fate had laid the cards ; now 
the end of the game must be awaited. 

But when the duke held out his hand to the count 
for farewell, both felt as though this quarter of an 
hour had been one of those brief spaces of time 
which unconsciously form a turning point in life, 
which belong to those small causes productive of 
great effects. 



CHAPTER X. 

The newly wedded pair, in accordance with the 
wish of the land, were to reside in Rafaela’s native 
capital for the present, and Duke Henry had had 
Sophienhof, a charming palace which had been the 
residence of the dowager duchess, fitted up for 
Prince Carl Gustav and his young wife. 

Sophienhof was a rococo palace of the most ideal 
style. Its graceful pillars, balconies and turrets rose 
like a fairy castle from the beautiful park, with its 
terraced gardens, where were fountains and hedges 
and bowers interspersed with white marble statues, 
the whole place so preserved in its original charac- 
ter, that one might fancy that ladies and gentlemen 
with powdered hair and high-heeled shoes still 
walked along the gay sand walks. In the rear of 
the castle, mysterious, winding paths led to grottoes, 
past stone benches, mythological figures, urns and 
ivy wreathed monuments and deep, green ponds, on 
whose surfaces floated water-lilies, while blooming 
shrubs bent and touched the water. 

Could there be a more ideal spot for a newly 
[102] 


Her Little Highness. 


103 


wedded pair than this castle, whose furniture, much 
of it unchanged for two centuries, had seen many 
an interesting bit of the ducal family life? The 
faded damask could tell many a tale of laughter, of 
jesting, dancing and festivities, of sighs, and many 
bitter tears. 

Great changes had taken place in Sophienhof. 
At first the summer residence of its builder, one of 
those German princes whose ideal had been Ver- 
sailles, his misfortune h la Versailles. The sins 
beautiful women had committed in these halls, the 
faith, belief and pure love they had derided, had 
soon been expiated by the deep sorrow of noble 
women. 

Sophienhof was an ill-fated place. F'rom the mo- 
ment when its builder, the dissolute Duke August 
Maximilian, sank down with an apoplectic stroke in 
the midst of his mistresses, a champagne glass in 
his hand, misfortune had lurked at the threshold, 
and each one must learn to fear its gloomy power. 

Thus, in the case of the Duchess Leontine, who, 
in defiance of all superstition, gave a ball in Soph- 
ienhof. Remorseless fate decreed that at this very 
ball, her favorite daughter. Princess Hertha rushed 
madly through the corridors, screaming for help, 
her garments ablaze, and sank down, terribly 
burned, before one of the guests, paralyzed as they 
were with fright, could spring to her assistance. 
And yet again, when the late duke, father of the 
ruling one, an enemy to superstitions, ventured to 
arrange a skating party on the two lakes, to be fol- 
lowed by a little supper and dance in Sophienhof : 


104 


Her Little HtgJmess. 


The windows, usually so dark, already blazed 
with light ; the instruments of the orchestra were 
being tuned ; the first guest drew near. 

But how ! Resting on a stretcher, his bleeding 
head covered with an officer’s coat, mortally 
wounded by a fall upon the ice, they bore Lieuten- 
ant von Schmehlen into vSophienhof. 

Flutes and violins were hushed. All laughter 
died in the last sigh of a man who had dared come 
to Sophienhof for gayety. 

And it was in this house of evil omen that the 
darling and only hope of the land was to enter as a 
radiant young bride ! Society heard the news with 
a thrill of excitement ; and the court marshal was 
overwhelmed with anonymous letters, containing 
the most urgent warnings and petitions. 

The court marshal ventured a few remarks to 
Duke Henry concerning this, but hit upon an un- 
fortunate hour, when his sovereign was in an ill- 
temper. 

Nonsense ! Ridiculous !” cried the duke. “ The 
people do not know what they want ! First they 
desire that Prince Carl Gustav reside here with his 
young wife, and then some superstitious fools come 
with their croaks, and wish to prevent Sophien- 
hof from being occupied. Where else can the young 
couple live ? Say yourself, excellency, is there 
another suitable building ? The old castle, ruined 
by fire, cannot be rebuilt in a night. There is no 
suitable villa to be purchased. Why should the 
ideal little palace be left to the rats ? Because a few 
unfortunate chances have made superstitious minds 


Her Little Highness, 105 


believe in the most absurd old wives’ tales ! Prince 
Carl Gustav, and the princess also, "declared decid- 
edly for the Sophienhof. I would do anything 
rather than attempt to dissuade one of our bravest 
princes from a residence there because the place is 
reported to be ill-omened. Therefore, excellency, 
have the kindness to suppress all these foolish re- 
ports to the best of your ability. For my part, I 
wish to be troubled no more with such nonsense.” 

And so it remained. The letters were thrown in 
the fire henceforth. The duke said nothing more 
about the matter, and vSeemed in the best of sprits ; 
but when the young couple had gone to make their 
formal entrance into Prince Carl Gustav’s native 
capital he became graver and more thoughtful, and 
as the hour when the pair was expected back drew 
nearer and nearer, his shadow was often seen behind 
the curtains of his study, pacing restlesssly up and 
down. 

He laughed at superstition and premonitions, yet 
an uncomfortable feeling tormented him — the sense 
of responsibility. 

If it should chance that any misfortune actually 
occurred in Sophienhof, he would have all the 
blinded fatalists against him, and they would re- 
proach him for sacrificing his sister to the evil spirit 
of that fatal castle. 

If Duchess Sophie really wandered, a gloomy 
ghost, through the halls of the house in which once 
the deepest misery and longing for lost love and 
happiness had broken her heart, surely she .would 
spare the last of her race — that tender blossom 


io6 


Her Little Highness. 


which was to give new life to the princely race 
otherwise dying out. Yet, had she spared Princess 
Hertha? And was not she as merry and light- 
hearted as Rafaela ! 

The gloomy spirits of Sophienhof hated all mirth 
and happiness. If there were really truth in this 
belief ! 

In vain did the duke reason with himself and call 
to mind the justness of Providence. He paced his 
room restlessly, and fairly started when it was an- 
nounced to him that Sophienhof was lighted and 
furnished to receive the young couple. 

For a moment Duke Henry stared thoughtfully 
before him ; then he suddenly raised his hand and 
commanded that Count Lankwitz be sent for at once. 

The duke has not forgotten the ironic smile of the 
young count when Duchess Renee had recently 
touched vexedly upon the theme of Sophienhof and 
its ill name. 

“You surely do, not believe such tales, my dear 
count?'’ he had asked. 

“ No, your highness. I think them so absurd that 
it is incomprehensible to me that people who are 
sensible, cultivated, religious, can cherish such non- 
sense and repeat it.” 

“ Ah, excellent ! So you are convinced that that 
calumniated palace will bring no fatality upon the 
princess and her husband ?” 

A strange expression crossed the young man’s face 
for an instant. 

“ Misfortune, your highness, is in the personality 
itself, not in the walls which surround it. It is borne 


Her Little Highness, 


107 


into the castle — it does not come from it. If her 
highness, the princess, brings happiness with her, 
and knows how to chain it, it will never be endan- 
gered by evil powers. God controls our destinies. 
No marriage, even the happiest, is proof against 
sorrow, and if this happens upon neutral ground, no 
remark is made. If it comes to Sophienhof all de- 
clare the sibyls have prophesied truly, and it is 
caused by ghosts and evil spirits.” 

This was one of those little speeches which had 
once made Rafaela exclaim, mockingly : “ His lips 
drop wisdom.” Now, too, the little group of dinner 
guests smiled, and bent lower over their plates ; but 
the duke cried, approvingly : 

“ Bravo, my dear Lankwitz, quite my opinion !” 

This had closed the short debate, and the duke 
had been in the best of tempers. To-day he re- 
called this speech, and commanded Count Cyril to 
accompany him. Sophienhof was brilliantly illumi- 
nated, and in company with young Lankwitz, the 
duke drove up to the side entrance that he might 
wander, unnoticed, through the rooms once more. 
Not a soul was in sight, and the footman sprang 
down from the box to ring the bell. 

“ Hey, Marloff, make no noise. I wish to enter 
unnoticed.” 

“Yes, your highness.” 

“ Take the carriage back by the same route.” 

“Yes, your highness.” 

The horses dashed off, and the two men hastily 
entered the dimly lighted corridor. 

It was quiet and deserted. The side entrance 


io8 


Her Little Highness. 


was used only by the servants. The footsteps of 
the duke and his companion rang loudly on the un- 
carpeted floor. In two niches had been placed 
weather-beaten sandstone figures brought in from 
the park, and these seemed to stare at them with 
their dead eyes as they passed. 

A narrow flight of stone stairs led up to more 
comfortable regions. A long better-lighted corridor 
extended before them, from which opened numer- 
ous doors with tarnished gilding. This connected 
the two wings of the palace. 

The duke paused for a moment and gazednip a 
dark, winding staircase. 

There was not a sound, nor was there a human 
being in sight. 

“ The unfortunate Princess Pertha once rushed, 
wrapped in flames, down these stairs and corridor,” 
he whispered, drawing his hand across his brow. 
“ Horrible ! When one knows of such sad occur- 
rences, one’s imagination is doubly active. I fancy 
I can hear her cries for help.” 

“ The populace are practicing cheering in front 
of the castle. Your highness hears the shrill 
voices,” said Cyril in his calm way. 

“ Certainly, certainly, my dear Lankwitz,” said 
the duke, walking quickly on. “ Echoes deceive one 
so strangely in these quiet rooms. Let us inspect 
the suite of rooms which is intended for the royal 
pair and their court.” He opened a door and en- 
tered. “ Ah, light and comfortable, and apparently 
in good order. These rooms interest me less. Let 
us hasten to the young couple’s rooms. Ah, what 


Her Little Highness. 


109 


tales these faded hangings and old furniture could 
repeat ! Few gay ones. But if God wills, a new, 
cloudless sun has arisen for Sophienhof.” 

The duke paused suddenly, and stared at an old 
m-oth-eaten tapestry. A weeping, girlish face, sup- 
ported on folded hands. “ A broken heart,” was 
embroidered in queer, old-fashioned letters beneath. 

“ Strange ! Rafaela’s face !” he murmured. 

“ The eyes are different, only the shape of the 
face and the way of arranging the hair remind one 
of the princess.” 

“The eyes seem different because they weep,” 
said the duke, excitedly, and suddenly, drawing a 
deep breath, he turned his head from the picture. 
“ I never wish to live to see Rafaela weep,” said he 
with emotion. 

“ And why not, your highness ? Tears in a 
woman’s eyes are sacred dew to the soul. There is 
an obstinate, defiant kind of weeping, but that has 
no tears, it is merely sobs and anger. Such clear 
drops as fall from the lashes here in the picture, 
however, flow direct from the heart, and I think 
they can bring blessings only. The spring rain 
bursts the buds, and summer rain ripens the 
fruit.” 

Involuntarily the duke smiled. 

“ You strange philosopher ! When one hears you 
speak, one would believe that you had been collect- 
ing your experiences of life and women for fifty 
years.” Thoughtfully he turned to the picture 
again. “ But you may be right. Tears are often 
as beneficial as the sun of love and happiness. Only 


no 


Her Little Highness. 


‘ a broken heart ’ would seem too high a price for a 
benefited soul.” 

“Indeed, your highness?” Cyril’s young face 
wore a strangely gloomy expression. “ How many 
hearts bleed without their souls being benefited ! 
Not only love breaks a heart, but cruelty also ; and 
I could not compare a man who dies in the arms of 
love, to one who is trodden under foot, misunder- 
stood and despised.” 

The duke walked on. His eyes rested on the 
speaker with warm interest, but he was evidently 
too distraught to enter into lengthy conversation 
upon any theme to-day. Hastily he opened a side 
door and entered a small, elegant little corridor, 
which, crossing the large main hall, led to the prin- 
cess’s apartments. 

Laughter, chat, the suppressed hum of conversa- 
tion of the waiting crowd fell upon his ears. Two 
lackeys rushed down the magnificent, brilliantly 
lighted staircase without noticing their sovereign. 

Cyril hastily threw open the doors to which the 
duke turned. 

An intoxicating perfume of flowers met them. 
All was bright, rosy splendor as far as the eye could 
see. 

The duke gazed at it with expressions of pleased 
approval. The doors leading out upon the middle 
balcony stood wide open. Two chamberlains and a 
court lady leaned against the bulastrade, talking 
eagerly ; and the two men hurried past the open 
doorway, unseen, and entered the next room. 

Large and magnificently furnished, fairly daz- 


Her Little Highness. 


1 1 1 


zling with its numerous crystal chandeliers, it ex- 
tended before them. In the center stood a small 
table with covers laid for eight. 

The duke started in alarm. 

“ Here ! They have laid the first table for the 
young couple here ! That is nonsense !” he gasped 
out. “ There must have been some misunderstand- 
ing. Unheard of ! Carl Gustav’s chair stands just 
on the spot where the Duke August Maximilian 
once sank back lifeless in his. What an indiscre- 
tion! To serve the first dinner in a room with which 
are connected so many gloomy memories ! Can it 
be changed?” He hastily consulted his watch. 
“ No, impossible, the duchess is just starting. We 
may expect the young couple in the briefest possi- 
ble time. Let us proceed, then.” 

The cheerful look had left the duke’s face, and he 
almost ran on. 

The next room was Rafaela’s boudoir. In accord- 
ance with her taste, a dim twilight prevailed, and 
white-silk por fibres covered the folding-doors leading 
into the next room. 

After a hasty glance of scrutiny, he turned toward 
them. 

“ In this room spring dwells, and I hope that no 
shadow will darken it,” said he, and at the same mo- 
ment started back with an exclamation of surprise. 
It seemed as though a dark form arose before him, 
barring the way. 

It is only my shadow, your highness,” said Cyril’s 
calm voice at his side. And as he raised his arm, the 
dark shadow upon the white portibres did the same. 


I 12 


Her Little Highness. 


The duke laughed somewhat nervously. 

“ By heavens, your shadow, my dear Lankwitz ! 
The light from the window forms it. But quite 
startling ! In a haunted castle one is always prepared 
for supernatural surprises.” He drew his handker- 
chief across his brow and continued in a somewhat 
forced, joking manner : “ So your shadow falls in 
the sunshine of this boudoir. I am convinced that 
it will only be beneficial, as the shade which in sum- 
mer protects us from too great heat.” 

The young count bowed silently ; his face wore a 
harsh look, and he trod under foot the little twig of 
myrtle which had fallen from a vase and lay on the 
carpet before him. 

The duke walked into the other rooms. It seemed 
as though his restless glance no longer took in the 
vSplendor which surrounded him, but as though he 
gazed closely at every dark corner, to see if any evil 
lurked there for his darling. 

And again he started slightly. 

“ I commanded that this room be occupied by the 
gentleman in waiting, and yet it has been arranged 
for the prince’s bedroom.” 

Cyril shrugged his shoulders. 

“ I heard that his highness. Prince Carl Gustav, per- 
sonally, decided upon the arrangement of the rooms.” 

The duke frowned gloomily. 

“ Then they should have tried to induce him to 
change. Lieutenant von Schmehlen died in this 
room.” 

‘‘ Does your highness think the room less agree- 
able for this reason ?” 


Her Little Highness. 


113 


The question is not of my feelings, my dear 
count. I would consider this room quite as desirable 
as any other, but the foolish superstitious multi- 
tude ! I have already been reproached and warned 
by anonymous letters. It is for Rafaela’s sake. The 
thought that her youug happiness might be dis- 
turbed distresses me, because public opinion would 
hold me responsible. They say that a death-room 
should never again be used as a sleeping-room, for 
the dead appears as a vampire.” 

“ Certainly, they say that here,” said Cyril, with a 
smile. “ But where would be our knights, our noble 
patrician families, if such superstition rested on 
fact.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“ When a house descends from father to son, 
when a residence passes into the possession of others, 
it would be almost unavoidable for a successor not 
to sleep in some room where a predecessor had 
died. In Neudeck, many generations have slept in 
the same room, and even the same bed in which 
father and ancestors have closed their eyes forever.” 

“ And from that you deduce that the dead never 
disturb the peace of the living?” Duke Henry 
looked quite contented. “ Very true, and Neudeck 
was probably older than Sophienhof. Allans done, 
we will not let our faith and temper be troubled by 
idle city gossip. I place Rafaela under the Al- 
mighty’s protection, and ask him and his angels to 
guard Sophienhof. Again a distant hurrah ! The 
first cheers! Forward, my dear count! We will 
surprise Duchess Rende on the veranda.” 


Her Little Highness, 


114 


On the large balcony running along the front of 
the palace, the court had assembled to welcome the 
young couple. 

Cyril availed himself of the opportunity when the 
ducal pair were engaged in earnest conversation, 
and slowly descended the steps to the shadow of a 
thicket, where he might remain unobserved. His 
heart shrank from meeting the princess, as an un- 
welcome guest, on the threshold of her new home, 
and his sensitive nature rebelled at the thought of 
serving as a target for her mockery and insults once 
more. The duke had ordered his company, there- 
fore he had obeyed, but in the joyful excitement of 
the meeting he, Cyril, will not be missed ; so he may 
wait until the princess and her train have entered 
the palace, and then mingle with the other guests, 
in case any fresh commands are to be given him. 

The people stand, crowded closely together, form- 
ing a living wall up to the very garden, that they 
may watch the young princess’s entry. The narrow 
walks in the garden were crowded with ladies and 
gentlemen, and at the last moment, when the cheers 
already announced the approach of the princely 
pair, a tall, slight man, with an enormous bunch 
of roses in his hand, pushed rather inconsiderately 
through the promenaders. A gray travelling cloak 
hung loosely from his shoulders, and as he hastily 
passed a young lady the stranger was suddenly 
jerked backward, while at the same time a faint cry 
rang out. 

“ Pardon, mademoiselle, has the dreadful hook 
made me your unresisting dependent and slave?” 


Her Little Highness, 


115 


laughed Count Cyprian Lankwitz, bowing his sun- 
burned head chivalrously to the little unknown. 
“ I always said when one hurries — oh, and it is your 
golden hair which chains me, ! Have the kindness 
to hold this bouquet one moment and I will set you 
free at once.” 

The young girl turned her face toward him, 
brightly illuminated by the electric lights, which lit 
up every nook and corner of the garden. It was a 
fresh, young, dreamy little face. 

“ I think you will be able to free the hook better 
than I,” said she modestly, and took the roses. 

For a moment Valleral stared at her, then hastily 
grasped the golden braid which was fastened to his 
mantle. The magnificent heavy braid was soft as 
silk, and for seventeen long months he had seen no 
such blonde hair. 

“ That is a superb braid !” involuntarily escaped 
his lips. “ Good heavens, and you have two ! No 
wonder that you ensnare men, young lady.” He 
tried to unwind the hair, but his fingers were 
awkward from fear of hurting the owner. 

“ Miss Lola, help me !” said the young lady in 
perfect English, and the stiff woman’s figure at her 
side bent down, saying, in a monotonous voice : 

“ Oh, yes, what’s the matter 

Her bony fingers soon succeeded in freeing the 
count, and while Cyprian still gazed at the golden 
hair as though bewitched, the young girl also cast a 
stolen glance at him. What a handsome, interest- 
ing-looking man. She had never seen him before. 
Who was he ? 


Her Little Highness. 


1 16 


Then he bowed hastily and very politely to the 
ladies, took a crimson, velvety rose from the bouquet 
and handed it to the girl, saying : 

Yours is the victory,’ is the meaning of a red 
rose in the language of flowers. You were able to 
ensnare me as no lady ever did before, mademoi- 
selle:^ 

He glances at her flushed face, .smiles with flash- 
ing eyes, and then hurries away. 

Nearer and nearer grow the cheers which greet 
the young couple. 

The garlands and arches support many colored 
lanterns, flags flutter, and Bengal fire makes the 
streets seem even more festive. Foaming at their 
bits, prancing and impatient, the four horses drawing 
the carriage can only with difficulty be checked by 
the coachmau, who realizes well that at the slightest 
yielding on his part, the fiery animals would run 
away. 

Princess Rafaela, more charming than ever, bows 
and smiles in all directions, her carriage already 
filled with bouquets up to the knees of the occupants. 

Prince Carl Gustav looks gayer than usual, but 
even so, his pale face looks much older than his 
rosy, childish wife’s, and one would easily take them 
for father and daughter. 

As the carriage turned into the park, the princess 
greeted the members of the court especially gra- 
ciously. As the electric lights made it bright as day, 
faces could plainly be distinguished, and the prin- 
cess’s large eyes wandered impatiently in all direc- 
tions, almost as though seeking some one. 


Her Little Highness. 1 1 7 


When the carriage at length stopped before the 
castle, and, amid the thundering cheers, the duke and 
duchess appeared on the balcony, hurrying to meet 
their sister with open arms. Prince Carl Gustav, 
without awaiting a lackey’s assistance, sprang out to 
help his young wife to alight. 

Cyril stood motionless among the bushes, and 
watched the slender form of the princess as she 
stood up in the carriage, laughing and bowing. A 
great bunch of roses flew through the air, struck 
her shoulder, and fell down among the other bou- 
quets in the carriage. She quickly turned her head, 
her eyes rested on some one, and her lovely face 
suddenly wore a strange expression. A hot, pas- 
sionate rapture such as could be called forth in 
such utter lack of disguise only by great surprise. 
For whom was this glance — this radiant smile ? 

The blood rushed to Cyril’s head ; he stepped out 
from the shadow, his flashing eyes fell upon a tall 
man who waved his hat with the smile of a con- 
queror — his father ! 

At that moment there was a wild commotion near 
him. The excited horses, startled by the sudden 
appearance of this dark figure, shied and dashed off 
before the surprised coachman could check them. 
A short, wild rush, and then they were stopped close 
to the park wall ; but a loud cry went up from the 
crowd. As though struck by lightning, Prince Carl 
Gustav’s tall form sank down upon the gravel. Duke 
Henry caught the half-fainting man in his arms, and 
the people crowded up from all sides. 

The prince had stood close to the carriage to a&. 


ii8 


Her Little Highness. 


sist Rafaela, the wheel of the heavy vehicle had 
rolled over his foot as the horses dashed away so 
suddenly. 

And once more rejoicings before Sophienhof were 
hushed in terror. Deathly pale, with great beads 
of sweat on his brow, Duke Henry assisted to lay 
the severely wounded man upon the bed which he 
had anxiously surveyed half an hour before. 

Princess Rafaela was deeply overcome ; but at the 
Duchess Renee’s urgent entreaty, she sought her 
room, as she was too exhausted by the journey to 
endure a night-watch at a sick-bed. 

The flowers faded in the carriage ; the princess 
took but one bouquet with her, and the crimson pet- 
als which fell from it formed a track up the marble 
steps ; they looked like drops of blood. 

Deep silence brooded over the capital. 

The torches and lanterns had burned out, and 
flags and garlands flapped mournfully in the wind, 
while inside the houses people talked in subdued 
whispers. 

Prince Carl Gustav lay, pale and motionless, on his 
couch of pain, while the doctors hastily prepared to 
amputate his foot. Princess Rafaela heard the news 
with a horrified stare. When they permitted her to 
see the sufferer, she leaned over him in her lively, 
noisy way, kissed his forehead, and cried pityingly : 

Poor soul, how unfortunate ! Now you can never 
dance again, you poor fellow !” 

Carl Gustav compressed his lips ; there were great 
tears in his eyes. 

“ I would gladly do without that, Rafaela ; but I 


Her Little Highness, 


119 


am now a cripple ; I am no longer the soldier I once 
was.” 

This grief she could not understand. As her care- 
less, excitable nature made the all-too-young wife 
unsuited to a sick-room, and as her presence was 
more irritating than soothing to the patient, the 
princess was kept away as much as possible, an ar- 
rangement to which she made not the slightest ob- 
jection. 

“ The prince is so badly suited to me,” she com- 
plained to Duke Henry, always using the title 
prince, as though she absolutely could not accustom 
herself to the thought that the grave, elderly man 
was her husband. “ He never was suited to me, but 
now less than ever. His sickness has made him 
more surly and moody than ever. If I laugh and am 
amused, his face blackens like a thunder-cloud. All 
that pleases me he calls childish nonsense, -and when 
I am happy he is bored. I am not as old as he. I 
wish to enjoy my life, as he formerly enjoyed his. I 
did the will of you and the country, and married 
him. Now I have done my duty, and will be inde- 
pendent enough to arrange my life to suit myself.” 

What availed petitions and representations ? Only 
love could smooth the diversity of this couple, and 
love was lacking. 

Month after month passed. Once more autumn 
scattered its withered leaves, and the autumn storms 
howled over the land. Then all the bells rang out 
joyously. Princess Rafaela had given birth to a 
prince. 

The young mother soon recovered, and the more 


120 


Her Little Highness. 


she and her baby bloomed the more did Prince Carl 
Gustav fade. To the perpexity of the physicians 
and sorrow of the people at large, the prince’s leg 
remained stiff, and his inactive life in an invalid 
chair had its sad effect upon his soldier nature. He 
inclin ed to hypochondria. His relations with his wife 
were more and more strained, and this made him 
irritable and unbearable ; and instead of the little 
prince becoming a reconciling tie between husband 
aud wife, he estranged them, for it made Carl Gus- 
tav bitter almost to hatred that his vivacious wife 
displayed no interest in the nursery, but again 
thought she had done her duty in giving to the land 
the ardently desired heir. 

“ Misfortune does not dwell within walls, it is 
brought in by men themselves.” The words still 
rang like a mournful echo in Duke Henry’s mind. 
Yes, unhappiness had this time been carried 
into Sophienhof, and it remained there. Princess 
Rafaela might light the castle ever so brightly for 
dance and feast, it yet remained dark and sad ; for 
the star of love and happiness did not watch over it. 




CHAPTER XL 

A sad state of affairs prevailed in the capital. 
Princess Rafaela was still far too young and undis- 
ciplined, too petted and willful, to be independent. 

To oppose all prudence and authority, she behaved 
in a manner which more and more incurred the 
severe blame of all serious persons. 

Duke Henry and Duchess Renee condemned her ' 
conduct severely, and yet they could bring about no 
change, for Rafaela opposed them from principle, 
declaring that she would no longer be dictated to, 
and her husband, that she might not be tyrannized 
over. 

And yet there was no one but him who had the 
right and the courage to open the young wife’s 
eyes to herself and her conduct. 

Duke Henry, usually so active and energetic, 
could not, even now, overcome the weakness he 
had always had for his sister. He worried, but 
could not resolve to act with the requisite energy as 
sovereign of the land and head of his family. 

Duchess Renee had quarreled with her sister-in- 
law. She avoided Rafaela’s entertainments, and 

[I2I] 


122 


Her Little Highness, 


openly sided with Prince Carl Gustav, who was 
slowly and hopelessly dying by inches. This gave 
the signal for a division in society, and two parties 
were formed, as bitterly opposed to each other aS 
pettiness and intolerance usually effect. 

All the gay, and, also, unfortunately, the dissolute 
elements sided with Princess Rafaela, who lacked 
enough experience and knowledge of human nature 
to see that this was the case, and that the better 
members of society ostentatiously were of the ducal 
pair’s party. 

The only gay butterfly who flew impartially from 
one party to the other was Count Cyprian Lankwitz, 
the very man whose name was most on people’s lips 
when Princess Rafaela was criticised. Valleral was 
a master in the difficult art of avoiding dangerous 
rocks. He steered hither and thither, and he, the 
rock of offense, remained neutral, and with an 
amused smile, watched this tempest in a tea-pot, 
chiefly on his account. 

He, the handsome, mature, satiated man, would 
not be bound, either by Rafaela’s fascinations, or 
the kind efforts of the duke to win him to the palace, 
and estrange him from Sophienhof. He gave no 
occasion for just reproach. With a shrug of his 
shoulders he let the princess rave over him, and 
laughingly gave her to understand that it was a 
Danaide task to try to kindle a burned-out crater. 
He coquetted with his gray hairs, and yet was flat- 
tered and pleased that, in spite of them, he was able 
to inspire a passion which excited a whole land. He 
tolerated Rafaela’s marks of favor with a humor 


Her Little Highness, 123 


which tried to represent this “ passion for an old 
man ” in the most harmless light possible. 

His amusing flippancy made him everywhere 
welcome, and much as her little highness pouted 
that he was as much at home in the palace as in 
Sophienhof, did the duke rejoice that, owing to fre- 
quent intercourse with the count, he might have a 
certain influence over him. 

There were various opinions as to whether Prin- 
cess Rafaela had really returned to her old love, or 
merely feigned so from caprice. There were even 
some who declared that she singled out Cyprian for 
so many marks of distinction merely to irritate his 
son. It was said that at first she had tried to attract 
Cyril to her palace in order to single out the captain 
for all the more favors, and snub the young lawyer 
most ostentatiously. 

She had succeeded but poorly. It was difficult to 
understand why she should take the trouble to an- 
noy Count Cyril, for nothing seemed further from 
his thoughts than Sophienhof. The young misan- 
thrope had almost wholly withdrawn from society ; 
he was seen neither in drawing-rooms nor club ; and 
his father, when questioned concerning him, would 
reply laughingly that his unnatural son was up to 
his ears in study, and seriously objected to being 
disturbed by even the briefest and most amusing 
account of social life. The outer world was dead 
for him, and if this indifference annoyed any one it was 
the princess. 

The only intercourse which Cyril still cultivated 
was in the palace with Princess Her mine, whom he 


124 


Her Little Highness. 


still visited quite frequently, participating in her 
studies. His profession often brought him in con- 
tact with the duke, and their little discussions of af- 
fairs of the day often ended with the sovereign re- 
marking smilingly : 

'‘You really are most suited to diplomacy, my dear 
Lankwitz. You are cold-blooded, keen and incredi- 
bly distrustful. You have a genius for being either 
an attache or member of the secret police.” 

Thus nearly two years had passed. Princess Rafa- 
ela saw nothing of the young count, and gradually 
accustomed herself to be ignored by him. She was 
often in a very bad temper, and her court had to 
suffer much from her, especially poor Valleral, who 
was treated to the most abrupt changes of love to 
hatred. 

Without the slightest result. Count Cyprian 
laughed at both, and no one could pass through 
hailstorms or sunshine as securely as he, the idler, 
who lived more extravagantly each year, and aston- 
ished the world by the new order of affairs, the son 
paying the father’s debts. 

Scandal became more and more .busy with Soph- 
ienhof. The princess’s manner to her husband was 
sharply criticised. Her relation with Captain Lank- 
witz was openly discussed, and she was bitterly re- 
proached with being a faithless wife and mother. 

The sympathy she formerly enjoyed died away 
more and more, as her breach with the ducal pair 
became more apparent, and it was even rumored 
that the duke seriously thought of putting the young 
princess under strict guardianship ; to do which the 


Her Little Highness, 


125 


prince’s more and more deplorable condition gave 
him a right. 

Then something most unexpected occurred. A 
book appeared which excited the whole civilized 
world. 

It’s title was “The modern Madam Potiphar,” 
and its contents were an unmistakable reflection of 
the state of affairs in Sophienhof, in which Madam 
Potiphar held her dissolute court. There was not an 
unjust or superfluous word. The treatment of her 
dying husband by Madam Potiphar found no ex- 
cuse, either in her youth, nor the reasons for which 
the marriage had been made. A woman who was 
so lacking in pity and sympathy that she could thus 
neglect a dying man, and boldly display her love 
for another, is so shallow, so contemptible that she 
judges and'condemns herself. 

And Madam Potiphar was no better as a mother ; 
her child did not exist for her. She lived only for 
herself, for dancing and amusement ; childish de- 
fiance and obstinacy dictated her every action ; she 
quarreled with those who meant most kindly with 
her ; she repaid with ingratitude and heartlessness all 
the love which, since her childhood, her family had 
shown her. 

All this was truth — bitter, relentless truth. In 
Madam Potiphar’s favorite. Count Cyprian Lank- 
witz was to be easily recognized. His nickname, Val- 
leral, was changed to Vauxrien. He fared none too 
well in the book, and his manner of life was severely 
criticised, but it was admitted that, despite his fri- 
volity, he had remained a chaste Joseph to Madam 


126 


Her Little Highness, 


Potipliar, and had left the mantle in her hands, and 
fled to his misanthropical son, the hermit. It was 
chiefly the latter’s influence, which enabled the 
father to resist the allurements of his beautiful temp- 
tress. 

Most of the frequenters of Sophienhof are plainly 
designated. The whole book was clever, satirical, 
and elegant in language, but not malicious. The 
few good traits of its characters were frankly ad- 
mitted. 

Who was the author? The whole capital was 
interested in this question. The book was pub- 
lished in Paris, and appeared in perfect French as 
well as German, but anonymously. It was circu- 
lated not only throughout the capital, but also in all 
the large cities of Europe, where it created much 
talk. 

Who was the author? He must be quite at home 
in Sophienhof ; he must be a man of uncommon 
sharpness, or a lady of remarkable intellect. Opin- 
ions as to the sex differed. “ Only a woman’s pen 
could be so malicious, could enter so accurately into 
detail,” said some. “ Only a man, and an unusually 
gifted man, could be so logical and philosophical,” 
said others. 

Excitement was at the highest pitch in the capital, 
and all were most anxious to learn how this bold 
production would be received at the court itself. 

The red silk curtains of Duke Henry’s study were 
closely drawn. The sunlight shining through them 
was reflected in the crystal ornaments on the broad 
writing-table, before which sat the duke, calm and 


Her Little Highness. 


127 


pleasant as ever, listening to a report from Count 
Cyril, whom he had summoned to his presence. 
Before him, on the table lay the fatal book— 
“ Madam Potiphar — and the hand which rested 
upon it was as steady as though the firebrand which 
these pages had kindled did not concern him or his 
in the slighest. 

“ So your secret investigations in book stores 
and with the police were without result, my dear 
count?” 

Cyril bowed. 

“ The hopes which they could hold out to me of 
discovering the author were so vague that they 
seem vain. But it is possible, your highness, that 
I am particularly ill suited to the mission with which 
your highness has honored me. I beg you as ur- 
gently as respectfully to choose some clever and 
renowned man who may undertake my unsuccess- 
ful expedition with better results.” 

The duke smilingly shook his head. 

“ That would be a useless waste of time. I do 
not seek to discover the anonymous author that I 
may call him to account, but to make the acquaint- 
ance of a man who has hitherto hid his light under 
a bushel, and who is worth discovery. However, I 
am not curious, and will try to pierce no disguise. 
Let Princess Rafaela first express her wish in the 
matter.” 

The speaker was silent for a monlent, and thought- 
fully turned the pages of the book. Then he sud- 
denly gazed into the count’s grave, immovable face. 

Have you read the book yet, Lankwitz?” 


128 


He}" Little Highness. 


“ Yes, your highness.” 

“ Tell me frankly what impression did it make 
upon you ?” 

Cyril’s eyes met those of his sovereign frankly 
and fearlessly. 

“Your highness knows my views of the world 
and mankind. The author of this book seems to 
be as eccentric as I, for he has written my very 
thoughts.” 

The duke laughed softly. 

“ If the name Lankwitz were not mentioned too 
compromisingly in the book, I would believe, my 
dear count, that it was a resume of your dark 
thoughts. But joking aside, to think, write and 
publish are different matters. Do you think the 
author a gentleman of our circle ?” 

The young man’s face wore a gloomy look. 

“He has certainly forfeited such a position now.” 

“ How so ? In spite of extreme frankness, the 
book is decent and refined. It contains mere truths, 
alas. Certainly it is to be doubted whether a friend 
of our house would so remorselessly proclaim the 
truth to all the world. I therefore ascribe it to an 
enemy as bitter as irreconcilable.” 

Cyril’s eyes flashed. 

“ Probably only an enemy of Princess Rafaela and 
my father,” he murmured between his teeth. 

“ Of your father?” 

“ He is described as a mocking Joseph. Must not 
that endanger his position in Sophienhof as well as 
in the palace here ?” There was an eager, almost 
anxious tone in the questioner’s voice. 


Her Little Highness. 


129 


“ In Sophienhof, possibly. At least I shall per- 
sonally do all in my power to persuade the princess 
to banish from her presence a man with whom pub- 
lic opinion so fatally connects her name. But the 
modern Joseph shall not be thrown into a dungeon, 
but rather be a more frequent guest in our palace. 
And now, my dear count, be again to-day my friendly 
companion on a secret visit to Sophienhof, as you 
were on that unfortunate evening when we expected 
the young couple.” 

The duke was staring thoughtfully before him, 
and did not notice the count’s start or the chang- 
ing flush and pallor of his face. He rose quickly, 
and put the copy of “ Madame Potiphar ” in his 
pocket. 

“ I think it my duty to go in person to vSophienhof 
to-day to speak with the princess concerning this 
book.” He drew a deep breath, and then the follow- 
ing words seemed to escape his lips involuntarily : 
‘‘ God grant that it may have a good influence upon 
her. It seems to me that these pitiless pages must 
bear noble fruit, and as though at the head of this hos- 
tile attack were the inscription, ‘ You thought to do 
harm, but God has made you beneficial.’ Come, my 
dear count. I do not care that the public should 
discuss my visit to Sophienhof prematurely, there- 
fore I take you with me, because I know that you 
will keep silence. I will not take a carriage, but 
go through the park by a quiet, solitary path with 
which possibly you are not yet acquainted.” 

He held out his hand, and did not notice that the 
young man drew it to his hot, quivering lips in un- 


130 


Her Little Highness. 


usual excitement ; then he turned and hastily sum- 
moned his valet. 

The park was in all the beauty of young spring 
as the two men walked along in silence, both ab- 
sorbed in thought. Sophienhof, despite the late 
hour, seemed still asleep. The white curtains were 
drawn before the windows behind which Princess 
Rafaela had yesterday participated in private theat- 
ricals and dancing. A carriage, that of the physi- 
cian who visited poor Prince Carl Gustav each day, 
stood waiting before the door. The coachman was 
chatting with two sleepy lackeys. 

“Will you have the kindness, my dear count, to 
announce my visit to the prince, shortly,” said the 
duke, turning to his companion after a long silence. 
“ I should like to enter once more unseen, by the 
side door. You will make use of the main entrance, 
if you please, and take all possible care that the ser- 
vants know nothing of my presence for the present.” 

Cyril bowed, waited until the duke had turned 
into a path leading to the side door, and then 
slowly crossed the open place in front of the palace. 
How long it was since he entered Sophienhof last ! 
He glanced gloomily at the spot where he had stood 
on that unfortunate evening and suddenly discov- 
ered his father, when he had read in Rafaela’s eyes 
that nothing had been able to kill her love. Then 
wild passion, hatred had come over him ; he had 
rushed away through the dark night, and struck his 
clenched fists madly against his brow, while his 
heart cried out : “ I will repay this !” Gradually 
his plan had matured. He shut himself up from the 


Her Little Highness. 


131 


world, and while faint echoes from Sophienhof 
instilled fresh drops of poison into his sick heart, 
he poured out his hatred and desire for vengeance 
in the pages which, under the title, “ Madame Poti- 
phar,” fell like brimstone upon the wicked Sodom. 
Cyril’s pale face, with the dark, flashing eyes, is de- 
fiant to-day, as he is about to set foot in Sophienhof 
once more. 

Had he done wrong ? Had “ Madame Potiphar ” 
been too harshly dealt with? No, he condemned a 
woman who openly displayed her love for another. 
He had not written a single untruth, nor had he 
judged her too severely. He could have forgiven 
her anything else, but this love, never. Many times 
his conscience and honor had reproached him for 
having pilloried a weak, defenseless woman, so he 
clung all the more to the proofs of her guilt, her un- 
concealed admiration of his father, which nothing 
could excuse. It was this love which irritated him 
to wild passion and the desire for vengeance. A 
strange calm had come over him since he had written 
this book ; the crisis was past. 

Absorbed in thought, the young count entered the 
vestibule of Sophienhof. Faded flowers still stood 
in large vases, and in the large banquet hall at the 
left servants were busy putting things in order after 
last night’s festivities. All faces wore a look of ex- 
citement, and the lackey who had admitted Cyril 
seemed anxious and ill at ease. 

“ I come to announce the visit of his highness the 
duke to his highness the prince,” said the young 
count. “Will it be received ?” 


132 


Her Little Highness. 


“ Oh, Count Lankwitz. Matters are very, very bad 
with him — worse than ever,” sighed the faithful 
servant. 

Cyril started slightly. 

“ How so ? Has — has — his highness been excited 
in any way — Oh, that would be terrible !” 

Oh no, sir. The old trouble. His highness is 
always specially nervous when an entertainment is 
given here, and last night he had a worse attack. 
The valet says the physician thinks this is the be- 
ginning of the end, and that the brain is greatly 
affected.” 

Count Lankwitz sank down in one of the chairs in 
the ante-room as though forgetting himself. 

“ That would be terrible !” he murmured, breath- 
ing heavily. “ Does her highness know this ?” 

The lackey shrugged his shoulders. 

“ Her highness was still asleep, fifteen minutes 
ago.” 

The door opened, and the prince’s adjutant, pale 
and disturbed, hastily crossed the threshold. He 
held out his hand absently to Cyril, and turned at 
once to the lackey. 

“ Corner, send the doctor’s carriage as quickly as 
possible to Professor Thielen. Tell him to come at 
once ; a fresh stroke has set in.” 

The man rushed noiselessly out of the door, while 
the adjutant hastily summoned another attendant. 

“ Announce it to his highness, the duke, imme- 
diately. Run to the palace and give this bulletin 
into his highness’s own hands.” 

Cyril hastily approached them. 


Her Little Highness, 


133 


“ A moment, captain !” and he bent and whispered 
a few words to the adjutant. 

“ Oh, that is different,” said the latter in surprise. 
“ So much the better. The princess then will learn 
it at once. Will you have the kindness, in this 
case, to notify his highness yourself, my dear count ? 
Here is the note. I hope we can expect their high- 
nesses in half an hour — no sooner, the physician re- 
quests. A thousand thanks in advance ! A u revoir 
And the speaker hastily disappeared behind the 
portieres. 

With cold, trembling fingers, Cyril held the en- 
velope, and turned like one in a dream to a lackey. 

‘‘ How can I reach the princess’s reception room 
from here, and attract as little notice as possible ?” 
he asked, dully. 

“ If the count will use the little bronze staircase 
which connects her highness’s drawing-rooms with 
the prince’s apartments.” 

The man preceded Cyril through two side ro_oms, 
and drew back a portitre which concealed a little 
winding staircase. 

This way, if you please, count.” 

Slowly, breathing heavily, the young man 
mounted the staircase. Why did fate bring him 
here on this day of all others, and why was it so in- 
describably hard for him to go to her presence ? 



CHAPTER XII. 

Even on the staircase, he could smell the delicate 
but intoxicating perfume which was inseparable 
from Rafaela. Cyril hesitated a moment, as he laid 
his hand upon the door-knob. Suppose the princess 
were to address him, and possibly inquire for the 
author of “ Madam Potiphar.” 

He set his teeth defiantly. Should he tell her the 
truth, and thus play her the leading trump of his 
revenge ? Yes, he will. What more has he to risk ? 
He will lose his place, his position at court, but he 
was prepared for this when he wrote the book. He 
is free and independent. Castle Soltau is well ad- 
apted to solitude and banishment, and it will not be 
hard for him to leave the world ; he has nothing 
more to lose. If she asks him he will tell her the 
truth ; if she does not, he will see that she shall soon 
learn it. Unconsciously he sighs as he opens the 
door and noiselessly enters the room. 

He stands in the princess’s boudoir^ just behind 
the white-silk porti'^res^ upon which his shadow had 
once fallen and startled the duke. Through the 
open doorway he sees Princess Rafaela reclining in 
an armchair, half turned from him, 

[134] 


Her Little Highness. 


135 


She wears a filmy, trailing morning gown of 
white lace and ribbons. The flowing sleeves had 
fallen back from the raised white arms — for the 
young princess’s face was buried in her hands, and 
she wept bitterly. The duke seems to have sur- 
prised her at her toilet : her long, curly hair fell in 
confusion from her lovely head. The little gold 
comb which had held it back had slipped out and 
caught in the loose locks. 

His back to Cyril, his head supported by one 
hand, sat Duke Henry ; on the floor, angrily tossed 
down, open, lay “ Madame Potiphar.” 

She wept. Just at that moment she removed her 
hands from her face and looked at her brother. 
Tears trembled on her lashes, and bathed the pale, 
young face, which bore a look most foreign to it. 
Gone was the mockery and petulance ; gone the 
bold, triumphant smile. The delicate lips quivered 
with deep and despairing pain, and her large tear- 
ful eyes expressed the same. 

No, Cyril had not imagined Rafaela thus when 
weeping. He shivered, wished to advance, but his 
feet seemed weighed down with lead. He tried to 
speak but in vain did he open his lips. 

“Truth? This book the truth, Henry?” came 
like a faint cry from Rafaela’s lips. “ And you say 
that to me, you who should know me better than 
this pitiless being, who judges and condemns with^ 
out knowing whether he judges justly.” 

“ Darling, he saw what, unfortunately, all could 
see.” 

She shook her hair back from her heated brow. 


136 


Her Little Highness. 


“ What all could see ; that is just it. That man, 
who pretends to have such a knowledge of human 
nature, should have known that appearances [are 
often deceitful.” 

The duke leaned forward excitedly, and seized his 
sister’s trembling little hand. 

“ Let us speak frankly to each other now, Rafaela,” 
said he, mildly, lovingly. “ Let us discuss this un- 
fortunate book point by point, and believe me, I will 
thank God on my knees if you can free me from a 
fancy which has held me, as well as the author of 
this book, captive during all the sad time of your 
marriage. Can you deny that you have treated Carl 
Gustav heartlessly and unlovingly ?” 

She drew herself up with flashing eyes. 

“ No,” said she firmly, “but I did him no wrong in 
doing so. Unlovingly ! Has the prince asked for 
my love? What has he done to win my love, 
Henry? Yes, I will be frank with you. I will con- 
fess to you that I tried, with all the hopelessness of 
a woman who feels herself alone and deserted as a 
wanderer in the desert, to win his. I had to marry 
a man whom I did not love, had to, Henry, and as 
that was the case, I wished to feel toward him as I 
should toward my husband.” 

Rafaela- set her teeth, and her cheeks flushed 
crimson. 

“ I made use of our wedding journey, when we 
were often alone, to draw nearer to him. I have 
kissed him, even called him tender names — oh, 
Henry, he might have won my love if he had 
chosen, for my heart was open to him with all the 


Her Little Highness, 137 


frankness of a child. But he did not. He did not 
conceal from me that he was too old for petting and 
caressing, that he despised tenderness. He sat op- 
posite me for hours with books and papers, vexed 
if I reminded him of my presence by a single ques- 
tion. That such coldness, such heartless, unloving 
coldness as I had never in my life met with before, 
embittered and wounded me, I need not assure 
you, especially as I soon discovered the reason of 
his roughness. Go in his room ! Look in his writ- 
ing desk. There lie the photographs of that woman 
whom he loved, whom he still loves, so that he is 
brutal to his unhappy wife, who was forced upon 
him for political reasons. She whom he loved he 
could not marry, and therefore he vented his hatred, 
his passionate bitterness upon me, the innocent girl 
who had been forced to sacrifice her love like him, 
who had not long been asked : ‘ Do you love him?’ 
but who was forced to obey her prince and people, 
Henry. I am too proud to waste a kind or tender 
word upon a man who tramples me under foot as the 
curse of his life. He repulsed me, drove me from 
him ; and as he clings with all the ties of memory 
to his lost youth and liberty, so do I. What obliges 
me to sacrifice my heart and entire young life with 
my bartered hand ? I danced, amused myself, lived 
in my own apartments as I was unwelcome in his. 
And the world saw only what was plainly to be seen, 
and judged me. But God, who sees my poor tor- 
tured heart, will forgive me.” 

Duke Henry bent his face close to her convul- 
sively clasped hands. 


138 


Her Little Highness, 


“ Oh, Rafaela, forgive your prince and your people 
for imposing upon you too great a sacrifice,” he 
whispered in a choked voice. After a short pause, 
he continued softly : “ But your child, your son, 
Rafaela ! Could not his sweet, innocent love recon- 
cile you to your fate ?” 

Rafaela sprang up in passionate excitement, and 
buried her face once more in her hands. 

“ The love of my child !” came like a cry of grief 
from her lips. “Ah, that, at least, you had not 
grudged me this love, this only happiness. ‘ My 
youth, my delicate health,’ were the words which 
my tormentors chose. Why could I not care for 
my child myself ? Then his heart would have be- 
longed to me. But you took him from me, and laid 
him on the breast of a nurse, a strange woman, and 
when I, the mother, longing for a smile from her 
child, came, he turned his head away and screamed. 
If I took him in my arms and longed to love him, 
he struck out at me with his little hands. But he 
loved the stranger ; cried for her, smiled at her, and 
hers not mine was the first name he lisped. Ah, 
Henry, my heart bled, and yet I was too proud to 
show unfeeling people how wretched, how poor is a 
woman condemned to a crown and purple. What 
was left me but this deceitful splendor, the golden 
cloak for a broken heart ! Something like mad 
despair came over me, Henry. I sought distrac- 
tion to deaden my pain, and the world saw and 
heard what was most plain — and it — judged me !” 

The young princess sat down in her chair again 
with a cry of despair, but Cyril groped for the door 


Her Little Highness. 


139 


and leaned against it. He tried to speak, to cry out, 
but could not. He suffered torment and bowed his 
head to it. There was a rustle in the next room. 
The duke rose, went to the sobbing woman’s side, 
took her face between his hands, and kissed it with 
deep emotion. 

“ The poor, poor princess !” sighed he. “ If the 
world knew how heavy our crowns often are, it 
would judge more mildly — more mildly than the 
author of this book, which scourges an already 
breaking heart with thorns.” 

Again there was silence. Rafaela had thrown her 
arms around her brother’s neck, and convulsive 
weeping shook her slender form. 

“Do you really love Cyprian Lankwitz so deeply?” 
said the duke softly, after a moment. 

Cyril started, and opening his eyes as one await- 
ing a sentence ; he stared at the princess. She raised 
her head, gazed dreamily into space, and breathing 
deeply, slowly pushed back the hair from her fore- 
head. Then her eyes met her brother’s frankly. 
Involuntarily she clasped her little hands on her 
bosom. 

“ No, Henry, no, I do not lOve him,” came coolly 
and calmly from her lips. “ I do not love him.” 

“ Child !” cried the duke, “ why then do you act 
such a strange part, and compromise yourself thus 
in the eyes of the world ?” 

A flash of her old, mocking defiance lit up her 
tear-stained face. 

“ I was a fool, Henry. I was too proud to be true. 
I blindly wandered away. I was ashamed that I 


140 


Her Little Higlmess, 


had ever been loving and tender to the prince. It 
enraged me that he had sacrificed me to a former 
love. I wished to revenge myself, and repay like 
with like. Therefore I resorted to a childish adora- 
tion, which I can now no longer comprehend my- 
self, and yet which was the only one in whose 
genuineness Carl Gustav would believe. I was 
wicked. I trifled with the most sacred feelings. I 
did it without remorse, for Cyprian Lankwitz is not 
the man who would ever die of a broken heart. 
Besides, he would assist me most easily in my plans, 
and the French idea that a wife may have her 
friends, favorites and admirers, without the slightest 
impropriety, had long been considered perfectly 
natural in our capital. My associates think no differ- 
ently ; no one blamed me but you and Ren6e, and I 
would not obey you. I hated you because you were 
indirectly the cause of all my misfortune. I acted 
like a foolish child ; ‘ Madam Potiphar ’ has made 
this clear to me. I innocently compromised my- 
self, for I did not love Cyprian. But the fault is 
not yours alone. He, too, he — ” 

She hesitated, while a crimson flush rose to her 
colorless cheeks. 

“ Of whom do you speak, darling ?” asked the 
duke, lovingly. 

She bit her lips, her Angers nervously twisted a 
lace handkerchief. With flashing eyes she raised 
her head : 

“ Of Cyril Lankwitz !” she ejaculated. 

The involuntary listener in the next room pressed 
his hand to his heart, fairly gasping. Ah, that he 


Her Little High^iess. 


141 


could flee to the end of the world ! How contempti- 
ble he seemed to himself to be standing here and 
listening to the deepest, most sacred confessions of 
a woman’s heart : but he could not go, he would 
rather die than leave now. 

“ Cyril Lankwitz !” repeated the duke in a tone of 
the utmost incredulity. “ What has he, the hermit, 
the misanthrope, to do with you and your destiny?” 

She breathed gaspingly — she could scarcely speak. 
Then she continued with sudden resolve : 

“ I have told you almost all. Henry, listen to the 
last. I hate Cyril Lankwitz ! He — he alone — drove 
me into this hated marriage.” 

“ Child !” 

“ Listen, Hal !” Rafaela drew her brother down 
on a lounge and leaned her head against his shoul- 
der, speaking very rapidly. “ From the first I liked 
him, even very much. His gloomy, peculiar face 
fascinated me, his originality interested me. I 
sought a pretext to speak with him, and fancied that 
his father would be a pleasant, ever-new theme. 
Never, never did any one meet me in such a hostile, 
such an insulting manner. That angered me, and 
also excited me to opposition. I think that we might 
have been friends, good, faithful friends, had he be- 
haved differently. He would certainly have pleased 
me much better than his father, had his grave man- 
ner, his way of converting people to his opinions, 
been less pedantic. I never injured him. Why did 
he offend me first, without cause ? All men ren- 
dered me homage. Why did he, alone, despise me 
in such a prudish, insulting manner ? Oh, Henry, he 


142 


Her Little Highness. 


gave me one of Cyprian’s letters to read, with the 
malicious intention of humiliating me as deeply as 
possible. And I grudged him this triumph. I 
wished to show him that it had never been my in- 
tention to let myself be scorned by a Count Lank- 
witz, so with passionate defiance I closed my eyes 
and married Carl Gustav.” The speaker paused, 
sighing deeply, then continued : 

“ That was the first link in a chain of foolish mis- 
takes. That letter was like eating poison to my 
heart. I wished to prove to Count Cyril that I could 
see his father a slave at my feet at any moment, 
that not he but I was the scorner. You know the 
consequences. Cyprian was harder to manage than I 
thought. His cool opposition incited me to more and 
more senseless defiance, to carry my point in spite of 
everything. Cyril should not triumph, he should 
not ; and so, in my madness, I took step after step, 
refusing all hands stretched out to restrain me on 
my slippery path. I risked the most dangerous 
coquetries to bring the captain to my feet. I did 
did not heed mankind, or their stern morality ; I 
only wished satisfaction. So I compromised myself 
for the sake of a man whom — whom I did not even 
love, and the world judged again from appearances 
only. There on the floor lies my sentence, ‘ Madam 
Potiphar that is my result, a new, disgraceful 
humiliation before Cyril. I accuse him. All that 
is in these pages, all that is meant to proclaim my 
guilt to the heavens, is his fault. He forced me 
into this labyrinth. He sowed the seed which is 
now reaped in this book. Oh, Henry, Henry, how 


Her Little Highness. 143 


he' can moc'k and deride his enemy now ! How he 
will delight in this new insult !’' 

Loud, convulsive sobs once more shook her form, 
but the duke put his arm firmly and lovingly around 
her. Utmost surprise and emotion were depicted 
on his pale face, but he said gently and sooth- 
ingly : 

“ You are mistaken, darling. Cyril is far too up- 
right and brave to triumph in a public scandal, 
even though he might have many reasons for con- 
sidering you his enemy. On the contrary, he has 
fried most faithfully to discover the author of 
' Madam Potiphar.’ He is far too faithful and de- 
voted to tolerate any insult against a member of his 
sovereign’s house. I have interrupted his investi- 
gations because I wished first to ask you, Rafaela, 
whether you care to learn the name of your slan- 
derer.” 

Cyril’s knees shook beneath him, and half faint- 
ing he had sunk down in an armchair and buried 
his face in his ice-cold hands. Now he let them 
sink down and looked up. His eyes rested passion- 
ately upon Rafaela’s face. 

The princess had risen, her hands were clasped 
convulsively before her. She breathed quickly, and 
a strange smile seemed to light up her tear-stained 
face. 

“ Henry, if he really has been so noble — if he 
really has done that for me ! Oh, Henry, I do not 
deserve it of him. I would have much, much to 
ask his pardon for.” Her voice was a mere breath. 

Yes, he did it, and he will do still more if you 


144 


Her Little Highness. 


will place sufficient confidence in him to let him 
act as your agent. Would you like to know the au- 
thor?” 

For a moment she stared absently before her, 
then turned violently to the duke. Her eyes flashed, 
and her face was crimson, down even to her white 
neck. 

“ Yes, Henry, I should. I should gladly know 
the author’s name. Send Cyril Lankwitz to me if 
you think that he will enter Sophienhof voluntarily. 
Send him to me. Tell him I ask him to come — not 
the Princess Rafaela of former days, and not that 
Madam Potiphar who is being slandered so, but 
another, Carl Gustav’s wife, the mother of the little 
crown-prince. If you tell him, Henry, he will 
probably come. I am not at home to Count Cyprian 
for the present, but my doors are open to his son. Tell 
him that, Henry. Then the world cannot throw 
another stone at me. A man like Hosanna, a 
gentleman of his reputation compromises no lady.” 

Cyril had risen unsteadily. He started back from 
his dark shadow which fell on the white portieres. 
Softly he groped his way to the door, opened it 
noiselessly as he had come and staggered down the 
bronze staircase. 

Cold drops of sweat stood on his brow. A groan 
like that of one mortally wounded escaped him. 
Then he rushed unsteadily down the last few steps. 

In the vestibule stood two lackeys. 

“ His highness is probably dying, count,” said one, 
with an anxious look. Cyril hastily handed him 
the envelope. 


Her Little Highness. 


145 


“ His highness, the duke, is in the blue room with 
the princess. Deliver this note without delay.” 

His voice was hoarse, half suffocated. The lackey 
rushed off, but Cyril looked neither to the right nor 
the left ; in feverish excitement he left Sophienhof, 
as though he were fleeing. He will not be missed 
in the sad confusion which the next hour brings, 
which plants the black flag of mourning over the 
gay palace of “Madam Potiphar.” 




CHAPTER XIII. 

The smiling April sky had clouded over, and a 
wind had arisen. It tossed the branches of the trees, 
shook the budding bushes, and fanned the bared 
head of the young man hurrying through the 
park, birt Cyril did not notice it or the cold drops 
which struck him in the face ; he did not heed the 
outer world, so absorbed in thought was he. Cyril, 
the cool, composed young man, whom nothing had 
ever before robbed of his self-possession, was now 
suddenly hurled down from his lofty pedestal. He 
had lost belief in himself ; the stone which he had 
thrown with self-righteous zeal at another rolled 
back upon him and crushed him. 

He threw himself down upon a bench, and buried 
his head in his hands. The tears which had shone 
on Rafaela’s lashes became molten lead falling upon 
his heart. What had he done? He had tortured 
an already wretched fellow-creature. Her soft, piti- 
ful voice still rings in his ears. He sees her sweet, 
tear-stained face, and feels his heart throb with grief. 
How can he expiate what he has done ? 

“ Die — die !” howls the storm. 

Yes, die, but would that help her who clings to 
[146] 


Her Little Highness, 


147 


the false idea of his fidelity, and who begged in her 
sweet voice ; “ Send him to me, Henry !” 

Shall he go, and throwing himself at her feet, cry : 
“ It is I who persecuted you so unjustly !” No, no, he 
cannot. Why does she not love his father ? That 
would make him strong in this hour of despair. 

She does not love ; him, no, she does not love him. 
The first ray of sunlight breaks through the clouds, 
and irradiates the young man’s face. She does not 
love him. He will not die. His despised, wretched 
life suddenly seems valuable. She does not love 
his father. She is alone, unloved and unhappy ; 
she shall be happy. She was unjustly attacked ; he 
will defend her, and will live for that. 

He can never confess his guilt. Never ! It would 
separate him from her for all time ; and she has 
called for him. He has taken so much from her. 
Must he not first restore it to her? Yes, he must ; 
it is his duty. 

The storm has abated, and the sun breaks through 
the clouds, and peace gradually comes to the young 
man’s troubled heart. 

The book which he had written he now con- 
demns with a passion which drives him from one 
extreme to another, and yet it was a mirror in which 
Rafaela, though innocent, would be benefited by 
looking, even although it placed a false mask be- 
fore her face, — a bitter, but beneficial medicine. 

The church bells of the city tolled, and the flags 
were at half-mast. 

Prince Carl Gustav, whose end had been predicted 
for months, had yet died suddenly. 


148 


Her Little Highness. 


While faded flowers yet lingered in the dancing- 
hall, the prince lay on his death-bed. 

This new sensational event crowded everything 
else into the background for the present. “ Did we 
not say so ?” the human ravens croaked. “ Soph- 
ienhof is a widow’s palace, and Princess Rafaela is 
a widow because she defled fate.” 

Many pitied the dead man, thus cut off so prema- 
turely, others declared he was better off. As his 
marriage had not been a happy one, he and his wife 
were better separated. Now Princess Rafaela will 
probably hesitate to add the final chapter to “ Madam 
Potiphar”by marrying Count Cyprian Lankwitz. 
She has given the country an heir, but still the suc- 
cession depends upon but one life, and many citizens 
declare that, for the good of the country, the prin- 
cess should, as soon as decency permits, marry 
another prince of royal blood. 

These and similar views so absorbed all minds 
that surprise was general when it was announced 
that Princess Rafaela was ill with nervous fever, 
brought on by excitement and grief. In the last 
hours, at the death-bed of her husband, she had 
displayed a tenderness and depth of feeling of which 
no one had believed her capable. Perhaps the read- 
ing of “ Madam Potiphar ” had awakened her 
conscience ; and realizing that it was too late to 
atone, she shrank with horror from the sight of 
death. But even this “ sentimentality ” the ladies 
and gentlemen of her gay court had not ascribed to 
her, and they were vexed because it so pleased the 
ducal party. 


Her Little Higlmess, 


149 


A reconciliation at the death-bed ! Who would 
have thought that possible ? Eye-witnesses declared 
that they had seldom been so affected as during 
that hour. The prince had not asked for his wife. 
He probably thought that after dancing all night 
she would be too weary to look into dying eyes ; but 
Rafaela had fairly forced her way into his room, and 
her coming pleased the dying man. It seemed as 
though the light form brought with it a last ray of 
sunlight. 

Kneeling at his bedvSide, she kissed his cold hands, 
and with touching words begged his forgiveness if 
her young flippant nature had too often grieved 
him, and in sweet, affecting words, promised that 
all should be different if he would only stay with 
her. 

With a last effort, he laid his hands gently upon 
her head. 

Poor child,” he murmured, “ we have to forgive 
mutually. Neither understood how to bear with 
dignity the heavy burden which a princely crown 
imposes. Death is merciful, and will release us 
both.” And after a short pause, he added: “Try 
to remember me kindly, Rafaela — and — and if you 
wish to make death easier for me, promise that you 
will love our son as a true, good mother !” 

Sobbing loudly, she pressed her face against his 
hand. 

“ I do love him, Carl. I will do everything to 
make him love me in return.” 

Then she flitted noiselessly away, returning after 
a few minutes with the loudly screaming, strug- 


Her Little Highness. 


150 


gling little crown-prince in her arms. Her face was 
more ghastly than that of the dying man. 

The darkened room, the grave strangers, fright- 
ened the child, and silenced it for the moment. It 
stared with great horrified eyes at its father whom 
helping arms supported on his pillows. 

“ My child, little Carl Henry !” smiled the prince, 
his eyes growing dim. ‘‘For the first time in his 
mother’s arms — God bless you both !” 

That was his last conscious moment ; delirium re- 
turned, then the lethargy from which he never rallied. 

During the funeral ceremony, Rafaela was ill, and 
when the young princess drove out in the park for 
the first time, the frail-looking face surrounded by 
the long crape veil was so deadly pale and grave, 
that, at this unwonted sight, the citizens almost for- 
got to remove their hats in their amazement. 

The princess had expressed the ardent wish that 
little Carl Henry should accompany her on her 
drive, but the attempt had been frustrated by the 
little prince’s uncontrollable screams. 

The nurse declared in despair that it was only 
madam’s unusually gloomy attire that frightened 
the child, and as no coaxing or petting availed, Ra- 
faela finally sighed resignedly : 

“ Torment him no longer, but cCTme with him to 
my houdoir afterward ; perhaps he will be better if 
I play with him.” 

She gave the signal for departure, and the court 
lady noticed in alarm that great tears rolled over 
the pale cheeks, and this was also commented upon 
in the city, where every trifle was discussed. 


Her Little Highness. 


151 


So they also knew that the little prince had been 
as unruly and hostile toward his mother in her bou- 
doir as previously in the carriage. All attempts to 
accustom him to her failed, and the mother evi- 
dently suffered from her child’s outspoken dislike. 
The little prince clung all the more to the Duchess 
Rende, and although the two sisters-in-law had be- 
come fully reconciled since Carl Gustav’s death, 
their friendly relations were doubly strengthened 
by the little prince’s preference. The duchess con- 
soled the poor, unhappy young mother with all the 
hopeful confidence peculiar to her nature. 

“ Let him grow older and become sensible,” she 
laughed. “ Children are unreliable. The more you 
trouble yourself about him now, the more obsti- 
nately he turns away. Wait awhile. Take the 
southern trip for the winter months which your 
physicians so earnestly advise. Baby will forget 
you meanwhile, and when he makes your acquaint- 
ance again, he will turn to you as quickly as to 
other ladies, who have the charm of novelty for 
him.” 

The duchess smiled confidently, and Rafaela 
threw herself into her arms, sobbing loudly. She 
did not hear what Renee said to the duke a few 
minutes later, sighing : 

Poor Rafaela ! I tried to deceive her as to the 
truth, and hasten her departure. Carl will never 
accustom himself to her. Strangely enough, he 
seems to have inherited his father’s cold, hostile 
feeling toward his mother.” 

Rafaela left the city, accompanied only by an old 


52 


Her Little Highness. 


court marshal and his widowed daughter. Nothing 
more was said of “ Madam Potiphar,” and the ducal 
couple anxiously avoided exciting the unhappy 
young mother by alluding to it. She had not asked 
for Cyril Lank witz again, and consequently had not 
seen him, as she shrank timidly from all intercourse, 
even the most usual. 

Since her departure, Sophienhof once more lay 
dark and deserted. At Duchess Renee’s wish, the 
little crown-prince and his retinue had been trans- 
ferred to the palace, where he might be under the 
duchess’s loving care. 

Regular and more and more encouraging news 
arrived from Rafaela. She lived very quietly in 
Nice, strictly preserving her incognita^ and no one 
suspected that she was the original of “ Madam 
Potiphar, which book was still much discussed, 
although it was no longer the leading topic of con- 
versation. The health of the most charming of 
princesses improved. Rafaela once more took in- 
terest in the outer world, and in her last letter she 
mentioned “ Madam Potiphar ” herself, and asked 
if the author of the book had yet been discovered. 

By the physicians’ advice she would pass the sum- 
mer at the seashore, and only at the expiration of 
her year of mourning return to her home and accus- 
tomed circumstances. The separation from the 
capital was no trial to her, but all the more that from 
her little son. 

It seemed as though the princess wished now to 
make up for any former lack of love and care for 
her child. She wrote to the duke ; 



pUKK H^;NKV HA1> RKAI) this 




Page Ja3, 




Her Little Highness. 153 


^‘The sad dividing wall which formerly stood between baby 
and me death has removed. Now, for the first time, I have the 
feeling that Carl Henry belongs wholly to me. I sincerely hope 
that the persons who tried to prevent my intercourse with the 
darling, and declared that ‘ the nursery is no place for the prin- 
cess ’ will gradually yield me my rights. I suffer unspeakably 
under present conditions, and will only believe that God has for- 
given me my faults, when He turns my child’s heart to me.” 

Duke Henry had read this letter in loud, excited 
tones in Renee’s boudoir^ unsuspecting that Count 
Cyril Lankwitz was waiting in the next room to hand 
the duchess several private telegrams and petitions, 
he having been made, on the duchess’s birthday, her 
chamberlain, a distinction which seemed to have 
had a strange effect upon the young man. His for- 
mer mood and misanthropy had changed to a most 
remarkable graciousness and consideration toward 
every one. Though still grave and gloomy, he was 
no longer bitter and morose, but rather behaved 
like one who is trying to fight his own prejudices 
and to atone. 

Society could not understand this miracle, but now 
welcomed the former misanthrope with open arms ; 
and Count Cyprian was the most delighted of all, 
declaring that now, for the first time, did he really 
understand that his son was, indeed, his own flesh 
and blood. 

Different as the two were, they might often now 
be seen in the same drawing-room, where strangers 
still always took them for brothers. Cyril had a most 
excellent influence upon his father, and although 
Cyprian would not give up extravagant habits in a 
night, it became painful for him to allow this son, 


154 


Her Little Highness > 


whose gifts he admired and recognized more and 
more, to pay his debts again and again. 

Count Cyprian did not grow old. The silver 
threads in his hair did not detract from his good 
looks, but father and son were not in the least jeal- 
ous of each other, and their relations pleasanter 
than ever. 

It excited great amusement among the ladies that 
in time a most tender friendship had been formed 
between the young chamberlain, Lankwitz, and the 
now three-year-old crown-prince. How this had 
come about no one knew, but whoever had seen the 
world of love and tenderness in the dark eyes, or 
heard the loving tone in the deep voice when the 
count held the little golden-haired prince on his 
knees and told him such delightful fairy tales, could 
have understood why Carl Henry threw his arms 
around Cyril’s neck and declared : 

“ I love you. You must stay with me always !” 

No one had such an influence over the spoiled 
child as the chamberlain, and it had become a mat- 
ter of course that Count Cyril was to be sent for to 
bring the obstinate child to reason when any con- 
flict arose. 

Duchess Renee had told the princess of this 
amusing fact, but had received no answer from Ra- 
faela. Her letters grew daily more impatient and 
longing, and finally a brief, decided telegram an- 
nounced her return to Sophienhof, the widow’s 
palace. 



CHAPTER XIV. 

' Castle Bahrenberg had lain for years as though 
in a sleep. Since the two sisters, Claudine and 
Florence, had moved into their magnificent double 
palace, many autumn storms had swept over it. 
Life passed monotonously, one day just like the 
next, with no refreshing breath of novelty, no inter- 
course with the outer world. 

Had it been monotonous there before Florence’s 
flight and marriage it was now fairly death-like. 
No new servants were engaged, all was old, frail 
and moldy, and those who daily saw the tall woman 
in her deep mourning forgot that there was laugh- 
ing, young life in other castles. Here no one 
laughed or danced ; here lived only a solitary, un- 
happy woman, for Claudine was unhappy, embit- 
tered ; all her life she had been deceived, lonely and 
misunderstood. 

The very wealthy Baroness Claudine ! Often she 
sat in the tower-room, and the moonlight fell on her 
pale, sad face, as her thoughts flew far back to the 
past. Mother-love ! An unknown word to her. 
The days of her childhood were dark and empty, 

[155J 


Her Little Highness, 


156 


broken only by her father’s passionate bursts of 
rage. But once had there come a ray of sunlight, 
when she was allowed to accept her aunt’s invita- 
tion. What a memorably, happy moment that had 
been when she first entered the brightly lighted 
dancing-school. Shy, scarce daring to breathe, she 
stood in a corner, her little heart quivering with 
delight, for now the dreams of her fairy-tales were 
to come true. She gazed about the dancing-hall, 
and waited for the curly-haired prince, who would 
surely come and take pity on Cinderella. 

And he came ! How handsome he was ! They 
called him Valleral. The boys admired him and 
the girls trembled with delight, and blushed like a 
rose when he honored them with a glance. 

Poor, ugly weed, what does the sun care that your 
whole heart belongs to him. He seeks only the 
queen-flower, the rose. 

Claudine loved with all the passion of her young 
heart, with all the fidelity of a lonely nature, but he 
never noticed the quiet country girl, nor saw how 
pale she grew as he passed her again and again, 
choosing some fairer one from her side. 

These were torments for her young heart. She 
looked forward to nothing but the dancing-lessons, 
and when they came they brought nothing but 
humiliation. One day she danced opposite him in 
a quadrille. Her face flushed. The consciousness 
of being seen by him made her more awkward than 
ever. Valleral did not suspect what sharp ears she 
had, nor that they were strained to hear his voice 
above the music. 


Her Little Highness, 


T57 


“ Good gracious, the poor little country girl is 
homely. Some homeliness is allowed, but Claudine 
abuses this leave,” he said to his partner, and then 
laughed merrily as ever. 

But a frost had fallen on the poor weed, and killed 
its only young blossom of love. Claudine suffered 
indescribably, fled back to solitude, and sought con- 
solation in her father’s misanthropical teachings. 
She had inherited a tendency in this direction. Now 
it became deep-rooted. 

All that was left, her was her sister. She concen- 
trated all her tenderness on Florence, and when she 
deceived her and secretly fled, nothing remained 
but despair. She could not pardon Florence ; the 
latter had not deserved it. All her efforts at recon- 
ciliation were prompted, not by love — if she had 
loved her, could she have thus wounded her ? — but 
by avarice. 

This was the last bitter drop in her cup. Claudine 
von Bahrenberg had done with her sister. She had 
no other relatives, nor was she sufhciently interested 
in charitable institutions which she had never seen, 
to leave them her enormous fortune. 

The old lady stares thoughtfully into space. She 
sits in her favorite place at the tower window. A 
racking cough shakes her thin form ever and anon. 
She feels that before the first snow covers the 
churchyard her end will have come. And this 
thought fills her heart with peace. But to whom 
shall she leave all her wealth ? 

Mechanically her eyes glance around the room ; 
suddenly they rest upon a book lying on her writ- 


158 


Her Little Highness. 


ing-desk, and a flush rises to the sunken cheeks, 
and her eyes brighten as though she had seen the 
face of one long sought. 

Yes, a friend. Why did her thoughts wander so 
far into the past, while here, close beside her, lies the 
best, most faithful friend she has met in years — ■ 
“ Madam Potiphar !” 

How much diversion, how many pleasant hours 
this book has given her ! It was indeed the only 
friend who had sought her out in her loneliness, 
and who had given her news once more of him 
whom she had never forgotten, but about whom 
she had questioned no one — Cyprian Lankwitz. Re- 
views of this book, which had created such scandal 
by its comments upon society in the capital, had 
first called her attention to it. She had ordered it, 
and read it with ever-increasing enthusiasm. All 
these opinions were hers ; the author of the book 
felt as she did, and that brought him nearer the 
hermit of Bahrenberg than any one before. She 
had sent her agent to the capital to learn the au- 
thor, with what result can be imagined. 

She grew more and more fond of the book. Its 
delightful, if sharp, humor made her smile, although 
she fancied she had forgotten how. The unknown 
author, “Severin,’’ amused her, made her laugh 
and cry, and shortened her lonely hours. Truly, 
this anonymous “ Severin ” deserved to be re- 
warded. 

A smile lit up the sick woman’s features, and 
hastily, in nervous dread, lest death might frustrate 
her plans, she commanded a messenger to ride to 


Her Little Highness. 


159 


the nearest town, and fetch lawyers, that she might 
make her will. 

The lawyers came just in time. The invalid's 
condition had been aggravated by her feverish ex- 
citement. 

The will was drawn up, and to the amazement of 
the lawyer, Claudine, Baroness von Bahrenberg, 
made the author of the book, “ Madam Potiphar,” 
A. Severin, the universal heir of her large fortune. 
Baroness Florence Ohly’s name was not mentioned, 
and her daughter, Mignon, inherited only the old 
family diamonds, which must remain in the family. 

Half the castle and fine estate, as well as Claud- 
ine 's actual cash, were to fall to an unknown man 
who had alarmed the fashionable world by a book 
whose contents were so scandalous that he was 
forced to conceal his identity behind a pseudonym. 

A notary called the baroness’s attention to the 
fact that “ A. Severin ” was a mask which, in spite 
of all conceivable efforts, had as yet remained un- 
pierced, but one of the other men interrupted him 
with a significant wink. 

“ Pray, my good friend, do not grudge the world 
this fine joke. Think of the sensation. The author 
of ' Madam Potiphar ' is offered a princely fortune if 
he will lift his visor. Something so interesting has 
not occurred before in the nineteenth century. Do 
you think a mortal can resist this tempting will ? 
Never ! My fingers burn to publish the announce- 
ment in the newspapers. So keep still. Whether 
it is a pseudonym or not, now we will discover the 
author of ^ Madam Potiphar.' ” 


i6o 


Hci' Little Highness, 


So the testament was signed and sealed, and such 
peaceful calm came over Baroness Claudine that 
her physician almost began to hope for an improve- 
ment in her condition. 

But when the first snow-flakes whirled in the 
air, the martyr of Bahrenberg lay pale and cold 
upon her pillow, and it seemed to those who saw 
her that the homely old face had never looked so 
beautiful a-s since the kiss of the silent angel who 
ends all earthly misery. 

The lawyers could scarcely await the time for 
opening the will. With one stroke, the already 
half-forgotten “ Madam Potiphar ” would be the 
center of interest, and solution of the anonymous 
riddle would surely create more sensation than in 
the first place the book had created. 

And it was so. 

Probably printers’ ink never created more sensa- 
tion than the legal announcement that Baroness 
Claudine von Bahrenberg had left her large fortune 
to the author of the book, “ Madam Potiphar,” and 
that the author, “ A. Severin,” or the person identi- 
cal with this pseudonym, had only to present himself 
to the undersigned lawyer, and prove his identity, 
to enter upon his inheritance. 

This was an event which would electrify the 
coldest being. 

Public interest grew from day to day. 

“Has he announced himself?” was the burning 
question. 

There was no other topic of conversation, and 
where “ Madam Potiphar ” had long lain in a corner, 


Her Little Highness, 


i6i 


it was quickly brought out again and dusted. It 
had never been imagined that Claudine von Bah- 
renberg would thus excite their curiosity and impa- 
tience once more. 

But “A. Severin’’ was a pseudonym and — re- 
mained one. 




CHAPTER XV. 

Count Cyril Lankwitz’s rooms were noticeable for 
their extreme simplicity. Heavy old furniture, costly 
only because of its age, had been brought from his 
mother’s old castle. Ornaments, arms and costly 
knick-nacks would only have been in his way, in 
which respect he was a striking contrast to his 
father, whose refined, artistic taste never wearied 
of accomplishing new marvels of decoration and 
comfort, which trifles consumed a small fortune. 

Cyril sat in his large leather-covered armchair, 
a thick wolfskin beneath his feet, an extinguished 
cigar between his teeth. He was absorbed in his 
work, and forgetful of all else. An open letter from 
Princess Hermine lay before him ; and the young 
count was poring over the damaged chronicles which 
he had saved from Neudeck. 

There was a furious ring at the door-bell. 

Only Count Cyprian rang thus. His hasty, elastic 
step was heard almost immediately in the hall. 

“ Good evening, my boy,” he cried, entering the 
room. “ The devil ! Busy again ?” Valleral slapped 
his son affectionately on the back, then threw his 
[162] 


Her Little Highness. 


163 


coat to the old servant who had limped after him, 
and rubbed his hands. “ Something- warm, old man. 
A little cognac — but quick !” 

The servant gave his young master a helpless, 
imploring glance, and Cyril quickly pushed back his 
chair and laid down his pen. 

This is delightful, papa. I have just this mo- 
ment finished. Some cognac, then, at once !" And 
he drew out his keys and went up to an old carved 
sideboard. “ You may go, Braun. I have every- 
thing here.” 

The captain followed his son, both hands in his 
pockets, and stared curiously over his shoulder into 
the open cupboard. He laughed softly to himself. 

“ Just like an old maid ! Everything neat and 
orderly. Glasses, bottles and plates — canned goods 
— dear me, you can serve a breakfast at any mo- 
ment,” and he threw himself down upon the com- 
fortable old sofa. “You are a queer fellow. Ho- 
sanna ! To be sure, you live as uncomfortably as a 
backwoodsman, without any service ; but even that 
has its advantages ; you are spared much vexation. 
I ani not distrustful, but now I believe that you 
are right, and' that that wretched Parisian, my valet, 
robs me unmercifully.” 

“ Have you discharged him ?” 

Valleral sighed and took the offered glass of 
cognac. 

“ To be frank, I have not the courage, I am so 
used to the fellow. He is so attentive, knows all 
my habits and likings ; and, do you know, my boy, 
at my age, one becomes a trifle lazy and helpless. 


164 


Her Little Highness, 


and the perpetual training of servants is terri- 
ble.” 

“ Still I should think it more agreeable than such 
a reversed order of things. You are not Moulin ’s 
master ; he is yours.” 

Cyprian laughed. 

“ I have often thought recently what a wretched 
existence an old bachelor leads.” 

Cyril raised his head abruptly. 

“ And you say that ?” 

“ I say it. Even liberty may become burdensome, 
because one who possesses it usually abuses it. It 
has lost the charm of novelty for me, and in spite 
of my gay life, I am unspeakably bored. How 
valuable a true woman’s love is ! I long for all the 
tender interest your mother used to take in every- 
thing that concerned me. Who really sympathizes 
now with me ?” 

“ I, father.” 

“ My good boy ! Yes, you are a comfort when I 
can come and unburden my heart to you, but you 
live here and I live there ; and however attached a 
father and son may be, it is quite different from the 
love of a wife, who is one heart and soul with you !” 

Cyril laughed nervously. 

“ You are in a strange mood to-day, papa, a mood 
which I have never seen you in before.” He laid 
his arm on the captain’s shoulders. “ What makes 
you so gloomy? Moulin alone, or a mournful, 
serious ebb in the cash -box, which all your joy and 
love of life have drained ?” 

Valleral smoothed his handsome mustache 


Her Little Highness. 


165 


thoughtfully. He smiled, but even his smile was 
somewhat sad. 

“ Ebb — a serious ebb !” he sighed, deeply. “ Ah, 
dear, innocent, saintly Hosanna, what does a model 
man like you know of the terrible meaning of 
this word ?” He rose and paced the room excitedly. 
Suddenly he paused before his son and rested both 
hands heavily on his shoulders. “ Cyril,” he mur- 
mured, “ I foolishly gambled for a few evenings, 
had no luck, and am on the verge of ruin.” 

The young count started up in horror. 

“ Good heavens !” he groaned. 

But Valleral continued, with flushed face : 

‘‘ As I know that at present you need every penny 
yourself to tide over the strike of your miners with- 
out impairing your estates, I look upon it as abso- 
lutely out of the question, my boy, that you should 
hold your hopeless old father above water this time. 
What I need is too much — and so — so — ” The 
speaker paused, drew out his perfumed hand- 
kerchief, and mopped his brow. Cyril sat as 
though paralyzed, and stared straight before him. 
“And so?” he repeated, faintly, mechanically. 
“ So I must marry?” 

“ Marry !” 

“ And some wealthy, very wealthy woman,” said 
Valleral, seating himself comfortably on the sofa 
again. Now that he had once mentioned the 
specter, it had lost its terror for him. Uncomfort- 
able moods were always of short duration with him, 
and now his gay temper had the upper hand again. 
“ You see, my boy, you have no concern in the mat- 


Her Little Highness. 


1 66 


ter ; you are independent, of age, and — the devil ! — ■ 
I have no more money to leave you, so it really is 
quite indifferent to you how many brothers and sis- 
ters might share in the inheritance of this nothing.” 

Cyril seemed scarcely to hear him. 

“ And upon which of our wealthy heiresses has 
your choice fallen?” he asked 

Cyprian had completely shaken off his pessimistic 
mood. He rolled a cigarette most cheerfully, and 
crossed his legs, displaying his handsome silk hose 
above his patent-leather shoes. 

‘‘Well, my boy, it is probably best that I should be 
quite frank with you, so that we may both know 
what we wish, and what, if I succeed, is to keep my 
head above water. Therefore — in short — I think of 
courting the princess.” 

“ Rafaela ?” came like a trembling cry from Cy- 
ril’s lips. 

The captain laughed. 

“ Does it astonish you ? I thought the prophecy 
of it was already in every one’s mouth. Have you 
forgotten ‘ Madam Potiphar ?’ And especially now, 
when it has been recalled to every one’s memory. But 
of that later. First, let us come to the root of the 
matter. Rafaela, then. Do you not find this match 
quite a suitable one ?” 

Cyril did not answer ; his deathly pale face was 
averted, so his father continued gayly : 

“She is a widow and independent ; she has done 
her duty and given the country an heir to the 
throne. Now it is time for her to think of her heart, 
and not merely her country.” 


Her Little Highness, 


167 


“ Of her heart !” 

‘‘ And that this heart, with all its passionate love, 
belongs to me, she has proved plainly enough.” 

“ Indeed ! Are you so perfectly sure ?” 

“ Perfectly. Her manner could never leave me 
in doubt.” 

“ Even during her widowhood ? Have you spoken 
alone with her since Carl Gustav’s death ?” The 
speaker’s voice sounded hollow ^nd muffled. 

“ No, not that. The poor little woman has behaved 
in a most exemplary manner, and that attracts me — 
yes, in fact, it was that that first turned my heart 
to her.” 

Cyril’s eyes flashed strangely. 

“ And if the princess only coquetted with you ; 
if she never seriously thought of marrying you ?” 

The captain shrugged his shoulders with a light 
laugh. 

“ Old love does not die. I believe that I am still 
irresistible enough to win any woman whom I 
actually desire to win. Let me merely go to work 
as a lover. You will marvel.” 

Cyril frowned. “ Has your heart really chosen 
her, father, or do you merely wish to marry her to 
avert ruin ?” 

Valleral leaned his handsome head thoughtfully 
back upon the cushion. 

“This question is easier asked than answered. 
Let us see. In love up to my ears, as the saying 
goes ; in love with all the youthful, passionate fire 
of a first love— no, Cyril, probably my heart is no 
longer capable of that, although really it is remark- 


Her Little Highness. 


1 68 


able when one considers Rafaela’s charms and great 
beauty. But love is acknowledged to be blind, and 
belongs in the category of absurdities to which no 
logic can be applied. What was formerly so dis- 
tasteful to me in Rafaela’s manner that it prevented 
me from falling passionately in love with her, was 
possibly the fact that she offered me her love un- 
asked. Since her widowhood, since the unfortunate 
* Madam Potiphar ’ appeared, she has treated me 
coldly, distantly, even indifferently. That pleased 
me. She has become more and more to my taste, 
and if the witch continues to treat me so badly, per- 
haps, despite my gray hairs, I may fall passionately 
in love with her. At present — you see how alarm- 
ingly frank I am — I feel no warmer emotions to- 
ward her than toward any other lady. They all 
pay too much court to me, so they all bore me. My 
mind can, therefore, form my plans all the more 
clearly. Rafaela would be the most brilliant match 
for me, even if she did not wear a coronet. ‘ Madam 
Potiphar ’ has, to a certain extent, compromised the 
princess with me. I will show her that in the proper 
light and make it seem plausible. She will see that 
our marriage has become a moral necessity. Her 
love will become more ardent, and Hymen will give 
us his blessing. Now, you must admit that I am 
right, my boy.” 

Cyril was deathly pale. He pressed both hands 
to his head, as though forcing himself to be calm. 

“ The world has forgotten ‘ Madam Potiphar,’ 
the book has lost its effect, ” he murmured 
hoarsely. 


Her Little Highness. 


169 


The captain sat up eagerly. 

“Forgotten? Now, after Claudine Bahrenberg’s 
will, forgotten?” he cried, looking as though he did 
not understand. 

The young chamberlain stared at him blankly. 

“ What has Baroness vou Bahrenberg to do with 
‘ Madam Botiphar ?’ ” 

“ Boy ! — Man alive, have you not yet heard the 
latest ? I really believe, Hosanna, you think the 
newspapers too godless to read !” 

“ I do not understand you !” gasped the tortured 
Cyril. 

Cyprian hastily drew a paper from his pocket. 

“ You have not read this yet?” 

“ No, why should I have read it?” 

“Oh, sancta simplicitas ! The bookworm po.es 
over leather folios, and refreshes himself with the 
news of past centuries, while the present hurls its 
bombs into the world. Here, read, and remain in 
possession of your senses.” Laughingly the captain 
opened the newspaper and placed it in his son’s 
hands. 

Cyril glanced at it indifferently. Suddenly he 
started slightly and stared at a column in breathless 
horror. Claudine von Bahrenberg had made the 
author of “ Madam Potiphar” her sole heir! That 
was again an inexhaustible supply of water for the 
mill of scandal. That was an event of inestimable 
consequence. As though crushed by the weight of 
this second, unexpected blow, Cyril’s head fell for- 
ward on his trembling hands. 

“Oh, God, this is terrible !” he groaned. 


170 Her Little Highness. 


The captain burst into loud laughter. 

“ Boy, are you crazy ? You are as sentimental to- 
day as a consumptive maiden. Why does the 
Bahrenberg will irritate you ? I would at most think 
it unfortunate that I am not the author of the little 
book. Par bleu ! In that case I would not hesitate 
for a moment to give up my incognito. The inher-^ 
itance mounts into the millions, and for such a prize 
I would gladly let myself be wondered at as an in- 
tellectual man.” 

Cyril raised his head suddenly, his face distorted 
with emotion. 

“Indeed? And Princess Rafaela? Would you 
so easily give up her love and hand for this miser- 
able mammon ?” cried Cyril, bitterly. 

“ Why give it up ? At first she would, of course, 
hurl all her thunder-bolts of disfavor upon me,” said 
Valleral, shrugging his shoulders carelessly. “ But 
that would make our little war of love interesting. 
I imagine the angry goddess would be charming, 
and I am vain enough to flatter myself that in time 
I could reconcile her. Pah ! Why do we discuss 
soap-bubbles ! Unfortunately, poor devil that I am, 
I am not the author of ‘ Madam Potiphar,’ and my 
only consolation in the ‘ matter is that perhaps I 
will now learn who the droll fellow is who de- 
scribed me — ha, ha, ha ! — as a prudish Joseph.” 

Cyril sat erect, and a look of unnatural repose 
made his colorless face appear rigid. 

“ Do you think, then, that he will announce him- 
self ? Possibly there are men to whom such wealth 
would be a recompense for anything.” He inter- 


Her Little Highness. 


171 


rupted himself hastily. “ Well, let us return to our 
first and more important theme. So you have 
debts? Pray tell me the amount, papa.” 

“ Nonsense ! I will not consent that you pay 
them.” 

“ This one — last time it will probably be possible 
for me to do so !” the young count hastily assured 
him, and for the first time the color returned to his 
cheeks. “ Do you think I would allow you to be 
your wife’s slave merely because she had saved you, 
with a few banknotes, from poverty? You are not 
suited to married life ; it would be your misery.” 

“ Oh, no, indeed ! I assure you, on my word, that 
I will feel quite comfortable in my old days, as a 
domestic man.” 

Valleral calmly lighted a cigarette, after offering 
one to his son, who declined with a gesture. 

‘‘You see, I am still a handsome fellow, am won- 
derfully successful with the ladies, but — who knows 
how long this will last !” 

Cyril made an impatient movement. 

“ Do not deceive yourself with such illusions 
which will never be realized. A man like you would 
not submit to feminine caprice. Your domestic 
happiness would not last long, and instead of a com- 
fortable, untroubled old age, you would have a hell 
upon earth. I beg you, let me arrange your affairs 
this one time. It will be the last time possible, but if 
God wills, also the last that you need my help, eh, 
father?” 

“ You may fully rely upon that. Hosanna !” said 
the captain, firmly. “ Had I not drunk so much 


172 Her Little Highness. 


champagne, it would not have happened — on my 
word !” 

“ And you will give up your absurd matrimonial 
plans?” 

Valle ral sighed. 

“ Heaven knows why you get along so badly with 
the princess. She would surely have listened to 
me — but — oh, well, I will not be unthankful to you, 
my good boy.” 

“ Promise me — I beg you.” 

“ A vow ? Good gracious, then, night and day. 
I should be tempted to break it. Who can seriously 
answer for his heart ? If the princess continues to 
treat me badly, my obstinacy will demand that her 
heart be captivated once more. Good heavens, boy, 
do not look so wild ! The knife is not actually at 
my throat yet, if you really will be so generous as 
to buy off your old father once more — ” 

“ Yes, I will. Have you time to discuss the de- 
tails of the matter with me at once?” 

“ Impossible, my dear, nor is there such urgency. 
My creditor is a gentleman. I should like to pay a 
call, and find out when and where Rafaela will make 
her entrance to-morrow. I should like to send her 
some flowers as greeting.” 

“ The hour of her arrival is to remain an absolute 
secret, as her highness travels incognita, and has for- 
bidden all official welcome.” 

“ Nonsense ! That is merely some bit of import- 
anc(^ on the court marshal’s part. Why this abso- 
lute secrecy? That the city should be decorated 
and illuminated, and a delegation sent to the railway 


Her Little Highness. 173 


station is superfluous, and can easily be omitted. 
But why we, members of society, should be treated 
like children before Christmas, I do not under- 
stand.” 

“ The princess probably intends to live as quietly 
now as before.” 

“ Heaven forbid such a notion. All extremes are 
absurd, and she was no such Mary, heaven knows, 
that she need suddenly become a Mary Mag- 
dalen. It is all the influence of that infamous book, 
‘ Madam Potiphar !’ It would be an eternal shame 
if our gay, harmless princess should mourn in sack- 
cloth and ashes for the rest of her life.” 

“ That is not necessary if she really tries to avoid 
everything that may occasion talk. God grant that 
the poor young thing may be better understood and 
more justly judged than formerly.” 

‘‘I wish her that with all my heart.” The cap- 
tain rose and rang for his overcoat. “ But one thing 
I know, I will write the next ‘ Madam Potiphar,’ 
and then, perhaps, my friend. Baroness Ohly, will 
give me the other half of Bahrenberg.” 

“Ohly ! You remind me most opportunely of an 
involuntary sin. Here is an invitation which is 
doubtless addressed to you : ‘ Count C. von Lank- 
witz.’ As that name belongs to us both, and the 
baroness saved her ink and did not add ‘Captain,’ 
I opened the letter, thinking it was addressed to me.” 

“ C. von Lankwitz. I find it quite serious to have 
a son with the same initial,” laughed Cyprian, open- 
ing the note hastily. 

“ And besides that, our strangely similar hand- 


174 


Her Little Highness. 


writing,” said Cyril. “Pray, sign all your love-let- 
ters with your name in full.” 

“ Of course. Ah, friend Ohly has at length re- 
turned from her wanderings. ‘ Mignon’s education 
by sea and land is completed.’ Heaven help us ! 
Surely a highly modern young lady, with a classical 
education, and a volume of her own writings upon 
the emancipation of woman in her pocket. Well, 
then : ‘ Mignon’s education is completed. We 

think of making our quarters here for the winter, 
and will be very pleased if you, my dear count, will, 
as an old friend, be our first dinner guest. To- 
morrow evening, at six o’clock, we expect Countess 
S.’ — Oh, heavens, S. ! — ‘ to be with us on her way 
north. In case you are free and willing’ — that, of 
course, Annie Florence, I will come ! Thanks, 
Cyril, this note really pleases me. You were foolish 
not to accept it for yourself. Had I been in your 
place I would have played the devil of a joke. Well, 
so much the better. Hosanna permits himself no 
such jokes as gray-haired Valleral. Good-by, then, 
you dear old chap. To-morrow afternoon I will come 
and discuss the fatal story of the missing gold-pieces 
with you. Ha, ha ! Good night, my dear sober-sides. 
I suppose you will not come with me to the club?” 

“ Not for the world !” 

“Well, there have to be such odd fellows in a world ! 
Good-by, then, my boy. May all the muses be 
gracious to you.” And Valleral, after a hearty 
shake of his son’s hand, hurried away. His moodi- 
ness was gone like snow in April, and his face was 
once more all sunshine. 



CHAPTER XVI. 

The morning sun shone in Cyril’s rooms. Out- 
side was all the splendor of a winter landscape. 
The ground was white with snow. At the duke’s 
wish, Cyril now occupied rooms in the palace, and 
this morning the young chamberlain stood at one of 
the windows, his head resting against the cold pane. 
He sighed deeply. 

A few more hours, and fast horses would bring 
the most charming of princesses back to her native 
city, and with her all the pitiless spirits of remorse 
and grief, who would whirl her in their wild dance 
around the author of “ Madam Potiphar,” and a new 
opponent of his happiness, his own father, will ap- 
pear. 

The young count stares out at the winter morning, 
and does not hear the hasty knock on the door. 
Only the turning of the knob makes him turn his 
head. 

A lackey bows deeply and respectfully. 

“ What is it, Folkstone ?” 

“ I beg the count’s pardon if I disturbed him. 

[175] 



Little Highness. 


1 76 


Miss Breddon and Madame de Jory are in despair 
over his highness, the little prince. His highness 
will not let himself be dressed, and is screaming 
himself into such a state of excitement that the 
ladies fear he will be very cross when her highness 
arrives, which may be at any moment.” 

“ And I am to come?” 

The ladies earnestly begged the chamberlain.” 

“ I will follow you immediately, Folkstone.” 

Another bow and the lackey disappeared behind 
the portieres. Cyril went to his writing-desk and 
hastily slipped a small object in his breast-pocket. 
Then he turned at once to the door. 

A simple carriage with the ducal arms, but with- 
out footman or lackeys, rolled through the palace 
• gateway. 

Duke Henry had been awaiting it, standing at a 
window ; and now ringing a bell violently, he gave 
orders that the duchess should be notified, and hur- 
ried to the hall. 

The doors had been hastily thrown open, and 
lackeys rushed from all sides, but they came too 
late. Princess Rafaela, followed by her lady-in- 
waiting, hurried up the steps, and excitedly threw 
herself into her brother’s arms. 

“ How is he, Henry ? Is he well ?” 

The duke smiled, and offered her his arm. 

“ Perfectly so, darling. The little fellow is 
blooming. Welcome home ! Where will you go 
first? Renee awaits you in the gallery.” 

“ Let us go to her at once. She will accompany 
me to Baby ?” 


Her Little Highness. 


177 


“ Of course.” And the duke can scarcely keep 
pace with the hurried steps of the mother. 

The court lady had expected some orders, but as 
none came, she withdrew discreetly, to give direc- 
tions concerning the luggage. Such an informal 
arrival of a princess had never before occurred in 
the palace. Meanwhile, Duchess Renee clasped her 
sister-in-law in her arms with tender joy. 

“How fresh and blooming you look, Rafaela !” 
she cried delightedly. “ Thank Heaven the sacri- 
fice of your journey was not in vain.” 

Rafaela smiled absently, and pushed the heavy 
crape veil still further back from the lovely face. 

“ Which room does Baby occupy ?” said she, impa- 
tiently. “ Quick, quick ! Let us go to the little one, 
Renee. You do not know how I long for him.” 

“Will you not first change your dress?” pleads 
the duchess, glancing anxiously at the princess’s 
deep mourning garb. 

“No, no ! There will be time enough for that.” 

“ Remove your hat and veil at least. Perhaps 
Baby will be frightened at the gloomy look.” 

With trembling hands Rafaela laid both aside be- 
fore any one could come to her assistance. 

“ Ah, not that, not that I frighten him !” said she, 
softly. “ I have looked forward to seeing my child 
so much, Renee. I could not bear it if he were 
afraid of me.” 

The ducal pair exchanged a hasty glance. 

“ Nonsense, Rafaela. You must be prepared for 
that. I wrote you that Carl Henry is remarkably 
shy, and greets every strange face with a scream. 


178 


Her Little Highness. 


Think that you have been separated from him for 
a year.” 

The princess’s rosy cheeks have paled. She clasps 
her hands. 

“ Ah, Renee, if only this pain might be spared 
me ! I would give half my life for a welcoming 
smile from my child !” 

Be sensible, little sister, and do not require any- 
thing unnatural of a three-year-old child. Come! 
We will first secretly rejoice in the sight of him. 
Watched from a distance, when he plays by himself, 
and talks to his accustomed circle, he is prettiest.” 

“ Let us go through Madame de Jory’s room.” 

Softly the three royal personages hurry to the lit- 
tle prince’s suite. Noiselessly Rafaela draws back 
the portiires^ advances a few steps over the thick 
carpet, into the room, and gazes through the open 
door of the next one into her child’s play -room. She 
pauses and, with a happy smile on her lips, listens 
once more to the beloved little voice. 

Mamma is coming ! And mamma is the dear, 
good Christmas angel ! What will she bring Carl 
Henry?” it says, somewhat impatiently. 

“ What will mamma bring her little prince ?” re- 
plies a man’s deep, rich voice. “ A great heart full 
of love. And, if Carl Henry is very, very good to 
mamma, then she will fasten on her large, golden 
wings, like the beautiful angel here, and fly up to 
the dear Christ-child, and ask him to bring all the 
fine playthings that the little prince wishes.” 

Why does not mamma always have golden 
wings on her shoulders ?” 


Her Little Highness. 


179 


“ Because then she would have to fly up to 
heaven, and stay there always, instead of with us, 
and that would be very, very sad, for without dear 
mamma we could never be happy.” 

“ Would you cry if she flew like an angel?” 

“ Yes, I would cry bitter tears.” 

“ Do you love mamma, too ?” 

“Very dearly !” 

“ Shall she bring you some pretty things from 
the Christ-child, too ?” 

“ She will only do that if my little prince gives 
her a sweet kiss and loves her. Look at this pic- 
ture well, for then you will know mamma at once.” 

“ She will not look so black.” 

“ Yes, mamma has put on a black dress.” 

“ Will she bring Carl Henry a great big sugar- 
house ?” 

“ Certainly, if Carl Henry gives her a sweet kiss.” 

“ Henry will give her a kiss. Mamma must come 
very soon, or else Carl Henry will scream.” 

Rafaela had long since taken a step forward. Her 
eyes rested in unbounded amazement upon the 
strange scene before them. Her little son sat on Count 
Cyril Lankwitz’s knee, his blond head resting ten- 
derly upon the count’s breast, and chatted with him 
in his lisping childish way. And what pains the 
count took to win the willful little heart for the 
mother ! The princess trembled, and with out- 
stretched arms ran and sank down beside her child. 

“ Carl Henry ! Darling ! Here comes mamma 
to her treasure !” 

Cyril had started abruptly, and the little prince 


i8o 


Her Little Highness. 


threw his arms anxiously around his neck, and 
stared with great, frightened eyes at this unex- 
pected apparition. 

“ Mamma, Carl Henry ; this is mamma !” cried 
Cyril, joyously, quicklyrecovering himself. Now, 
give her a kiss quickly and say. How do you do.” 

The child still drew back, shyly. 

“ You give her a kiss, first,” said he suspiciously. 

Cyril flushed crimson. He stooped and hurriedly 
whispered a few words in the child’s ear, and with 
a joyful cry, Carl Henry held out his arms to his 
mother and let her take him in her arms. 

Dear, dear mamma. Bring a great big tree, 
with candles, from the Christ-child.” 

Tears rushed to Rafaela’s eyes. She embraced 
the child with passionate tenderness, and her eyes 
were radiant as the little face was pressed affection- 
ately against hers, and the child kissed her. 

“ Dear, dear little Henry !” she sobbed. 

“A sugar-house and a big tree with candles. 
Where are your golden wings, mamma ?” cried the 
prince, joyfully, and discovered at the princess’s 
throat his own miniature, surrounded with dia- 
monds. 

“That is Carl Henry. Cyril says Carl Henry 
lives in mamma’s heart, and mamma lives in Cyril’s 
heart — in here !” and he tapped the count’s breast- 
pocket, to which the latter had returned the prin- 
cess’s picture. 

The duke and the duchess had joined the group, 
while the ladies-in-waiting, breathless with surprise, 
hurried, courtes^ing, from the adjoining room. 


Her Little Highness, 


i8i 


Rafaela had risen, still with the child in her 
arms, clasping him as though in a dream, until he 
struggled and desired to be set down that he might 
“show mamma his great, big horse.” 

The duke had laid his hand on Cyril’s shoulder. 

“ That was a master-stroke, my faithful Ekke- 
hard,” he whispered, beaming with pleasure. 

The count bowed and wished to withdraw mod- 
estly ; but Rafaela hastily turned to him. She tried 
to speak, but could not. In overwhelming gratitude, 
she silently held out both hands, but in her eyes was 
a whole world of happiness. 

Lankwitz bowed quite as stiffly as formerly. He 
drew hen hand to his lips and murmured unintelli- 
gible words. His face was deeply flushed, but his 
eyes looked quite, quite different from formerly. 
Rafaela gazed up at him in wonder. Then he hastily 
withdrew. 

Carl Henry eagerly produced all his playthings 
that his little hands could carry. Mamma must see 
them all, and put on her golden wings and fly up 
to the Christ-child and get a great many more. Ra- 
faela’s face was radiant. 

Fatigue, hunger and thirst were forgotten. She 
sat beside her child, and played with him as excit- 
edly as though she feared this were a dream, from 
which she might waken all too soon. Cyril’s long, 
secret efforts had borne golden fruit. The nimbus 
with which he had surrounded the mother’s name 
and picture in the little prince’s eyes now glorified 
the reality, and the child, usually so shy and disa- 
greeable, intolerant of any stranger near him, now 


i 82 


Her Little Highness. 


saw in his mother the lovely angel who had come 
to gratify all his wishes. 

This wove the first strong threads of love, and 
what had filled all hearts with anxiety had been 
vanquished by Cyril’s tender efforts, which had suc- 
ceeded in doing the greatest possible kindness to 
the mother-heart. 

Now he stood in his room at the window and 
gazed out at the world which had never before 
seemed so golden and sunny, and, folding his hands, 
he thought : I have sinned greatly against her, but 
in this hour I have graciously been permitted to 
atone for some of my former deeds.” 




CHAPTER XVIL 

Baron von Ohly’s house was brilliantly lighted. 

Cyprian sprang from his carriage, and hurried up 
the steps. He seemed to be the first guest. 

Baroness Florence looked as fresh and gay as ever. 
She wore a white toilet, with black velvet trim- 
mings, as sole sign that she really was in mourning. 
To take further notice of her sister’s death seemed 
to be foolishness to her. Claudine had died without 
being reconciled to her sister. Her will had been 
an open disgrace and slight to the Ohly family. It 
would be absurd to shed crocodile tears for such a 
sister. 

“ The baron is suffering from gout, my dear count, 
or he would have flown to meet you on the wings 
of love,” cried Florence, gayly. 

“ Very flattering, but I should prefer to receive a 
winged angel in my arms. Where have you hidden 
Baroness Mignon, mamma-in-law ?” 

She laughed merrily. 

[183] 


184 


Her Little Highness. 


“ Be careful with your jokes, friend Valleral. 
My unnatural daughter is not the person to be leni- 
ent toward them.” 

“ Good gracious — a little spirit of opposition ?” 

“ At least a ‘ little spirit ’ who always says no, 
when her frivolous mother says yes. How I come 
by a daughter so sentimental as Mignon, might 
serve as a new interesting supplement to modern 
theories of heredit}^” 

“ Chapter II — with ‘ Valleral and Hosanna ’ for the 
first. So this Mignon does not sing of the ‘ land 
where the orange-blossoms grow,’ but of that where 
‘ skoals ’ rage and the reindeer seeks his path with 
difficulty.” 

“ Very righly guessed ! A sentimental, grave, 
thoughtful, Swedish temperament. She takes life 
as seriously as I take it lightly.” 

“ I am extremely curious to see the grave lady. 
Why does she make us wait for her?” 

‘‘ Not from coquetry. She is bandaging the hand 
of one of the maids, who cut her hand quite badly 
in opening a bottle. I think her Samaritan duties 
will not too long detain her from these as daughter 
of the house.” 

“ Samaritan ? B-r-r ! I never had the necessary 
comprehension of that.” The count interrupted 
himself, and turned politely to the door as the other 
guests began to arrive — several young couples, 
former devotees of Sophienhof ; a countess and her 
two daughters, who entered the room with all the 
assurance of those accustomed to drawing-rooms 
from childhood; a few gay officers — all of whom 


Her Little Highness. 185 


passed into the next room to express their sympathy 
to the poor, afflicted baron. 

Valleral kept in the background, and watched the 
portieres. 

Again they parted. 

Mignon appeared. 

Involuntarily Cyprian stared at her. Where had 
he seen this delicate madonna-face before ? It 
seemed as though he had gazed into these eyes 
before, had seen these lips smile ; but where ? 

Mignon greeted her mother’s guests, and bent 
over the old Countess S.’s hand. 

What magnificent blond hair ! The heavy knot, 
low in her neck, shone like spun gold. And he had 
seen just such beautiful hair before, but where ? 

The young guests gathered around her, but how 
strangely contrasted with them was Mignon. Ele- 
gantly and fashionably dressed, she yet looked so 
maidenly and unpretentious beside them. Her 
figure is still slight and fragile, her manner simple 
and childish, pleasant but grave. 

“ Baroness, may I ask you to present me to your 
daughter?” says Cyprian, drawing near with his ac- 
customed smile of conscious victory. 

Mignon glances up at him What a glance of 
sweet, shy, lovely embarrassment ! She flushes 
crimson ; her delicate lips quiver as though she 
would speak, but she remains silent. 

“ She is delicious !” whispers the captain to the 
baroness, loud enough to be heard. 

Count Cyprian had a special scheme for convers- 
ing with young girls. He told that he had often, 


Her Little ^Highness. 


1 86 


especially in former days, been condemned to take 
one of these inexperienced beings in to dinner. 
Then he either was amused much or ate much, and 
one was as satisfying as the other. 

His first question to such a youthful companion 
was always : “ Do you like to skate and dance ?” A 
question usually answered with a shy yes or no. 
Then he would tell a nice, suitable anecdote, and 
watch the effect. If a happy appreciation, then the 
victory was as good as won ; but if her head merely 
sank lower, with a bashful giggle, and her answer 
was silence, then Count Lankwitz became more in- 
terested in his plate during the course. 

Then followed the next attack. 

“ What pastor confirmed you. Miss X.?” 

The head would be raised quickly, the eyes would 
flash. She would mention the name. 

Woe to him ! Valleral, as a matter of principle, 
would attack him, however he contradicted his own 
convictions in so doing. He would declare the ser- 
mons of the clergyman she mentioned vapid, unin- 
tellectual and himself too worldly or too orthodox ; 
in short, he would attack the unknown in the fiercest 
manner. 

If this did not help, all was lost. Horrified, the 
girl would usually forget all shyness, and defend 
her pastor boldly and enthusiastically. Excitement 
makes the plainest face attractive, and unconsciously 
the girl would display all her naive, overflowing 
little heart. 

A glimpse of such a young heart is always inter- 
esting. Count Cyprian, greatly entertained, would 


Her Little Highness, 


187 


gradually begin to yield. In the thought of win- 
ning him over to her adored pastor, his little neigh- 
bor would become more and more animated, and 
since he was so handsome and agreeable, the more 
remorse Valleral showed, the more would her eyes 
beam. 

Inch by inch, he let her conquer ; then, at dessert, 
would greavely assure her that she had converted 
him to quite a different opinion. The girl would 
beam with pride and satisfaction, select the choicest 
bofibons for him, and try to reward him by the 
greatest graciousness. 

In this case, Cyprian had enjoyed himself, and 
usually made the acquaintance of a dear little girl. 
But if his maneuver failed, if his opinion of her 
pastor elicited only an insulted shrug of her shoul- 
ders and annihilating silence, then he knew that 
further efforts were useless here, calmly let her 
pout and ate his dinner with the best of appetites. 

“ Kind friend, let me take Mignon in to dinner,” 
he asked the baroness, who could scarcely believe 
her ears. 

“ Impossible, my dear captain. You will bask in 
the smiles of your hostess.” 

“ Of course, it must be very hard for you to give 
me up, baroness, ”-said he, teasingly, with one of his 
irresistible smiles, “ but such a sacrifice should not 
be declined by a mother ; it is for her daughter.” 

She struck him playfully with her feather fan. 

“ You arrogant fellow ! I know no better way to 
punish you in this moment than by fulfilling your 
wish.” 


Her Little Highness, 


1 88 


“ To punish ?” 

The baroness smiled strangely. 

“ My daughter will prove to you that she thinks 
such a sacrifice tiresome and unnecessary. Mignon’s 
list of favorites at present begins with lieutenants 
and descends to captains.” 

“ You arouse the lion of vanity in me.” 

“ Who is always active enough to insnare a mouse, 
if no noble game is in sight.” 

“Your good opinion of me fairly enchants me, 
baroness.” 

“ Mocker ! Do you not know the fable in which 
King Lion was the slave of a poor little mouse ?” 

“ I am so fond of being a slave, and am so modest 
that I will put up with the smallest hand or foot.” 

“Very well, if my poor child is willing to take 
you instead of her charming lieutenant — ” 

“ Opposition would throw an unfortunate light 
upon her mother’s bringing up.” 

“ You are right. I am convinced that Mignon 
will have sufficient reverence for age to bear the 
unavoidable honor with dignity.” 

“ But, dear baroness — really you are not so very 
old — ” Valleral looked niost innocent, but the bar- 
oness, who had already turned away, quickly re- 
turned : 

“ I absolutely did not speak of myself, you ungal- 
lant man !” said she, laughingly shaking her finger 
at him. “ But if you thought of me it is all the more 
terrible that you show no more veneration.” 

Cyprian crossed his arms with a languishing 
glance. 


Her Little Highness, 


“ I not only venerate it — I adore it !” 

“ Good gracious, where ?” cried the Baroness von 
Ohly. 

He bent close to her and whispered : 

“ In wine and cigars.” 

“ Good-for-nothing !” and Mignon’s mamma 
rustled away, horrified. 

Mignon blushed deeply as Count Cyprian bowed 
before her, and with the most gallant words, offered 
her his arm. She accepted it with an expression of 
solemn gravity, as it seemed to him, and none too 
willingly, for Mignon hated anything noticeable. 
Why had the count made such an unusual request ? 
Was it true, as they said, that he occasionally made 
a joke of taking young girls in to dinner, and after- 
wards ridiculing their simplicity and lack of ex- 
perience ? 

Two of her young friends had, in confidence, 
poured out their hearts about Count Cyprian to her, 
and, strangely enough, one told exactly the same 
story as the other. Mignon was no average girl. 
She remembered other, strikingly similar conversa- 
tions, and drew her own conclusions. Especially as, 
in secret, the memory of a handsome man, still 
young despite his gray hair, whose hand had held 
one of her braids, who had handed her a red rose 
with such a fascinating glance, was still fresh in her 
heart. 

Mignon was neither shy nor quiet, and would chat 
very animatedly ; but to-night, as she sat beside the 
captain, she was silent, and only her large, brilliant 
eyes glanced at him occasionally, questioningly, as 


Her Little Highness. 


190 


though ready for the expected conflict. Aha, now 
he turns toward her ; now it will be decided. 

“ Tell me, Miss Mignon, you are probably fond of 
skating?” 

A change comes over the girl’s madonna-like face, 
and her eyes flash. 

Not at all !” says she, dryly. “ I am far more 
enthusiastic over pretty, harmless anecdotes.” 

The count listens in amazement. Strange! Is 
he deceived, or did the girl’s voice sound ironical? 
Still he remains unsuspecting. 

“Anecdotes? Delightful! I have several fine 
ones. Which will you hear? The one about the 
much-tormented lieutenant or the stern boarding- 
house keeper ? Of the ever-thirsty student — ” 

Valleral suddenly pauses in surprise at the unde- 
finable look on the rosy face. 

“ If it suits you. Count Lankwitz, I would rather 
hear your opinion of the pastor who confirmed me,” 
says she, calmly ; but her delicate nostrils quiver 
with suppressed laughter, and although she tries to 
make her voice sound indifferent, every word is 
mocking. 

The scales suddenly fall from his eyes ; for a mo- 
ment he is speechless, greatly embarrassed, for 
almost the first time in his life. 

Then he leans back in his chair and laughs, laughs 
more heartily than he has for years. Whether 
Mignon likes it or the reverse, he seizes her soft 
little hand and draws it to his lips. 

“ I have not had such a snub in years,” he cries, 
delightedly, “ and I have never before bowed my 


Her Little Highness, 


191 


head so remorsefully. The deuce ! That was a fine 
stroke, Miss Mignon. You have stretched me half 
fainting at your feet ; now be a generous conqueror, 
and tell me frankly who betrayed to you my plan 
of war by which usually I conquer.” 

vShe shrugs her shoulders, and joins in his 
laughter. 

“Even among girls there is dea' Alliance chiffon 
d" enfant socialei says she, jokingly. “ A defensive 
and offensive alliance in accordance with the de- 
mands of modern women, and which exacts equal 
rights for its youngest as well as its oldest sister. 
In this case, social equality.” 

“Good gracious!” 

Cyprian leaned forward, his handsome face flushed 
with interest and amusement. 

“ Do you read the papers. Miss Mignon ?” 

“ Of course.” 

“ And you swear by the flag of those fair malcon- 
tents who, as long as the world exists, can rule the 
hearts of men, and thus the world, and yet are not 
satified with their power 1” 

“This power is of too problematical a nature. 
In this case, woman is like the fetish of the Africans, 
before which the men bow and do homage until they 
think it well to thrash it for a change.” 

Cyprian laughed. 

“ You refer to barbaric affairs. Cudgels are un- 
known in Germany, thank fortune.” 

“ Actual ones, yes ; but there are moral ones here 
as in every land. 

“ Mention one.” 


192 


Her Little Highness. 


“ The injustice and inconsistency with which 
women are treated.” 

“ How calmly you utter such long words. Can 
you illustrate your view with an example ?” 

“^Certainly.” Mignon pushed back a golden curl 
from her temple, and smiled. She argued without 
becoming in the least excited or arbitrary. “ What 
inconsistency towards women is displayed by plac- 
ing them on an equal footing with men in one 
respect, when it is advantageous for the men — I 
mean in the matter of taxes — and yet denying them 
all other rights ? Every poor working woman who 
supports her children by her own hands must pay 
taxes without hope of pity, for man generously 
admits a woman can work as industriousl)^ as a man. 
But when any matter affecting the welfare of the 
whole people is to be decided, she is denied any 
voice. That is inconsistent. If it is admitted that 
a woman is capable of supporting a family, and if 
she pays taxes like a man, she should have the same 
right that a man has to vote.” 

“ You forget. Miss Mignon, that we distinguish 
between very different kinds of work. A woman 
may, perhaps, hoe potatoes, wash and iron and sew 
excellently, without having the slightest idea of 
social matters, politics and the burning topics of 
the day. A clever hand does not always necessitate 
brains.” 

“ And is a peasant who has grown up in the same 
atmosphere as his wife cleverer and more enlight- 
ened than she?” 

‘‘ In this case, yes. In every village there is a 


Her Little Highness. 


193 


tavern, and in this tavern politics are discussed. 
Drivers, travellers, peddlers bring news from the 
outside world, and the peasant sits and hears them 
discussed, while his wife is home, cooking and look- 
ing after the children, within the narrow bounds 
that nature has determined for her for centuries." 

“ Very well, I admit that. Besides, I am convinced 
that every true woman would prefer such activity 
to a fight with public opinion. But then one should 
leave woman to her quiet, unpretentious work, and 
not overburden her, or, if this must be, then decree : 
‘ Whoever pays taxes is entitled to vote. Those 
who pay none are not.’ That would be just." 

Cyprian smilingly shrugged his shoulders. 

“ Women pay taxes for the civil comforts they 
enjoy, for protection, order and law. Whoever is a 
member of a community must pay his or her share. 
The head of the family is the man." 

Involuntarily Mignon glanced at her imposing 
mother, behind whom Baron Ohly was completely 
eclipsed. 

“ You are silent. Miss Mignon, but you look as 
thoughtful as though my words had not fully con- 
vinced you," said Cyprian, his eyes resting with 
ever-increasing enjoyment upon the bent head of 
his neighbor, whose face at this moment was as ex- 
pressive as a song without words. 

She smilingly shook her head. 

No, I am not yet convinced." 

Then let us continue the discussion." 

“ Not now." 

“ And why not ?" 


194 


Her Little Highness, 


She smiled mischievously. 

“ Because the present course, if it is to be en- 
joyed, must be eaten while it is hot.'’ 

Again he laughed more animatedly than in a long 
time. How charmingly this little thing understood 
the art of remaining gay and neutral, despite the 
grave, forbidden theme. He ate the delicacies be- 
fore him, but very absent-mindedly. At this mo- 
ment he would have eaten birds’ nests without the 
slightest notice. 

“So, then, Alliance chiffon d' enfant he 

laughed, returning to the beginning of their con- 
versation. “ And this aims at the equality of girls 
with grown women. Delightful! Decidedly the 
best fi7i de siecle arrangement I have met with. Pray 
explain it to me. What do the young ladies de- 
mand ? Eight hours a day of society ?” 

How well that teasing manner became him ! 
Mignon flushed again slightly. 

“ Eight hours of such work would probabl)^ be- 
come unendurable in a short time. No, we d^bu~ 
t antes fight against a position in society which makes 
every gentleman think he has a right to ridicule us.” 

“You can not possibly make such an assertion 
from experience ?” 

“ My own experiences begin to-day, with this, my 
first appearance.” 

“ Indeed ! Then you were regaled with fairy 
tales?” 

“ Ah? Are you fond of skating? Do you like to 
hear anecdotes ? Who confirmed you ? Those are 
three questions which one is always perfectly justi- 


Her Little Highness. 


195 


fied in putting to a strange young lady. Tell me, 
truly, did you ask my mother them when you met 
her again at the court ball ?” 

He laughed again. 

“ No, Miss Mignon, these questions would be in- 
sulting to a lady of your mother’s intellectual ability.” 

“ And not to me?” 

^‘No, although now that I have the pleasure of 
your acquaintance, I should not address them to you.” 

“ And you would ask them of Miss von Thurn and 
Greta Lisbach, just as before?” 

“ Without the slightest prick of my conscience.” 

“ Ah ! There is the scorn of our girlish existence.” 

“ Do you require me to entertain your friends 
v/ith scientific and political topics ?” 

“ Yes, did you not me ? And is it much of a re- 
quest that my sisters should enjoy the same recog- 
nition as others ?” 

“We are coming back to the * A ttiance socmtel ” 
said Cyprian, smiling. “ As, in the great woman 
question of the time, only a few of the cleverest 
women are at the head of a grumbling crowd, so 
you, as an unusually gifted and intelligent young 
lady, have undertaken the leadership of your girl 
friends. Do you really believe that everj/ woman is 
capable of study, and occupying a position in the 
world? A thousand times no ! Nature has placed 
a barrier in woman’s delicate physique, which can 
never be removed. Thousands of women would 
ruin their health by study and the practice of a pro- 
fession, and our poor, nervous, miserable generation 
would be completely enfeebled. But the few women 


196 


Her Little Highness. 


whose bodies can keep pace with their minds are so 
rare that an agitation for their sakes is not worth 
while. They will accomplish their purpose without 
it, even under present circumstances. And now we 
will draw a parallel. You just mentioned Miss von 
Thurn and Greta Lisbach. I will boldly assert that 
it would be impossible to hold an interesting con- 
versation with these shy and superficial little things.” 

“ Try it !” 

“ No !” 

“And yet you make an assertion ?” 

“Yes. And for the reason that it was not possi- 
ble to talk with these ladies on the simplest one of 
my three topics.” 

“ Impossible ! They were surely piqued by your 
manner, and punished you with silence.” 

“ Certainly ! And just by that proved their inca- 
pacity, and that they had no right to demand anything 
better. Arrogance is always a sign of foolishness. 
No one will carry on an intellectual conversation 
with those ladies, even if they live to become 
great-grandmothers. But when one is interest- 
ing and amusing, even as a mere girl, she will be 
able to parry these insignificant questions cleverly.” 
Cyprian raised his champagne-glass, giving Mignon 
a very speaking glance. “ And win the respect of 
every man by her charming conversation. Here’s 
to the ^ Alliance chiffon I Miss Mignon. You do not 
need it, for you have conquered even before war 
was declared.” 

The glasses clinked, and Mignon’s cheeks glowed 
like crimson roses. 


CHAPTER XVIIL 


Princess Rafaela was dressing her little son’s 
Christmas-tree herself. 

She stood on a stool under the spicy branches, 
and raised her slender, rounded arms to fasten on 
all the gilt and silver ornaments that Count Cyril 
presented to her on a tray. 

The slender figure was clad in black velvet, and 
on her curly hair rested a little widow’s cap of white 
cripe. Her only ornament was a string of rare 
pearls around her white throat, whidi rose grace- 
fully from the broad black gauze bertha. 

She turned her rosy face toward the young cham- 
berlain. 

“ Does this angel look well here, or shall it hang 
higher, count ?” 

Cyril drew back a step and inspected it. 

“Will your highness see for yourself? In my 
opinion, the pretty little thing is too much hidden 
by the green.” 

“ Let me decide.” 


[197] 


198 


Her Little Highness, 


Involuntarily slie held out her hand to be helped 
down from the stool. Cyril stood at her side, 
her soft, little right hand rested in his, and for a 
second their eyes met, and each thought of the 
same moment — that unhappy moment when the 
loveliest of princesses, a bride, tore her court train 
from her cavalier’s hand. 

A deep flush rose to the young widow’s cheeks, 
she glanced up hastily. 

“Yes, the angel hangs too low, the wings are en- 
tirely hidden. Please try how it looks on the upper 
branch.” 

And then she watched Cyril’s hands as they exe- 
cuted her commands. Did they tremble, or was it 
only the unusual work which made the count awk- 
ward ? He had trouble in accomplishing his task. 
Rafaela stole a glance at his face. Each day she 
marveled afresh at the change in it. 

She did not understand how she could ever have 
disliked him or thought him eccentric. The re- 
pellent, misanthropical look of the past had given 
way to a pleasant gravity, and he seemed charm- 
ingly just to and considerate of his fellow-men. It 
was even said that the count’s latest hobby was to 
make himself the zealous defendant of all whom 
society condemned. 

How did it happen that her child had such a 
tender, passionate liking for this grave, quiet man ? 
He is the only one of whom Rafaela is not jealous, 
and with whom she is willing to share Carl Henry’s 
love. 

“ It is well that we have so many little angels to 


Her Little Highness. 199 


adorn the tree,” said Cyril, busy fastening the little 
winged dolls. “The prince is especially fond of 
them, and will be much pleased.” 

“ You have made him love the Christmas angel by 
your pretty stories, the angel and his mother in one 
person,” replied the princess, gently, “and no one 
appreciates that better than 1. Oh, Count Lank- 
witz,” she continued, warmly, “ how much I have 
to thank you for. It is the first tree I have ever 
dressed for my child. Often it seems like a dream 
to me that the little one really loves me so tenderly. 
Hear him now, calling at the door : ‘ Mamma, 

mamma !’ The little fellow is curious, and oh, it is 
so hard for me not to bring him in ! But I mxxst 
take him a few bonbons." And happy as a child 
herself, the princess rushed out of the room, and 
on the other side of the door, Cyril heard her 
laughing and petting the little prince. 

He drew a deep breath. How indescribably 
sweet it would be to be a spectator of such happi- 
ness ! Rafaela returned. Her cheeks glowed, her 
eyes shone with happiness. 

“ Oh, he is so happy, count !” she cried. “ And he 
persists that mamma must be the Christmas angel 
to-night and bring him all his pretty things from 
the Christ-child.” 

The young chamberlain drew a step nearer. 

“ Your highness, I, too, have a great Christmas 
wish on my heart.” 

She listened delightedly. 

“Anything, anything! Pray, speak, my dear 
count.” 


200 


Her Little Highness. 


“ In the sense of the little prince, I would fain 
beg you to be this evening, in the child’s eyes, the 
bright form he looks for. Do not prove the tale I 
told him false. Wear a white gown to-night, and 
let him still imagine his mother is the angel which 
looks and words so often prove her.” 

Rafaela had bowed her head. 

“ Leave off mourning for the first time ! Wear a 
white gown for the first time,” she whispered. 
That is a surprising suggestion, and yet — yet, you 
are right, count. Fot the child’s sake. He must 
not lose his belief in your kind words.” 

She glanced at the tall figure almost hesitatingly, 
and continued still more softly : 

“ Henry is so fond of you. And nothing must 
shake his love. The child has so very much to 
atone for his mother. Forgive me for his sake,” 
she added, holding out her hand. 

Cyril started, and for a moment his face was 
deathly pale. Rafaela did not see it. He stooped 
and kissed her hand. When he raised his head 
again his face wore a tortured look,. 

“ Forgive ! What have I to forgive, your high- 
ness?” he gasped. “ In all humility, I have to beg 
you to forgive whatever in my mad delusion I — ” 

“ Count Cyril, we were both foolish children. We 
obstinately clutched the thorns, and trod the roses 
under our feet.” 

He shook his head in his old gloomy way. 

“ I was a poor, weak creature, mentally and phy- 
sically ill, blind and deaf, wandering on a false path. 
This is Christmas eve, a feast of kindness and 


Her Little Highness. 


201 


charity, your highness. Do not let me go away emp- 
ty-handed, among all those who are bidden peace 
on earth. Let me be eertain that you will forgive 
and forget all that I have ever done.” 

Her large, astonished eyes rested anxiously upon 
his flushed, excited face. 

“ Good heavens, how strangely you speak, count ! 
What has happened ? What have you done to me 
that I have not done to you? We mutually vexed 
each other, and made life hard. That is no crime, 
and I have long, long ago forgiven you that.” 

For a moment Cyril struggled with himself. His 
pulses throbbed feverishly ; he felt that this was 
the right moment to throw himself at her feet and 
confess all. There, beneath the Christmas-tree 
branches, surely she would forgive him. He 
opened his lips ; his hands pressed together in pas- 
sionate conflict — when there was a knock at the 
door. Too late ! 

The princess turned her head, and Cyril drew 
back with a sigh. A lady-in-waiting appeared, fol- 
lowed by a lackey, who carried a large object, 
wrapped in white tissue-paper. 

“ Pardon, your highness, if we venture into this 
mysterious Christmas room, despite your com- 
mands,” said Miss von Riegnitz. “ But here, the 
guilty cause is Count Cyprian Lankwitz.” 

Cyril raised his head suddenly, but the princess 
went toward the lackey in astonishment. 

“Captain Lankwitz? What about him?” 

Miss Lola laughingly waved both hands at the 
package. “ He sent this veiled picture to Soph- 


202 


Her Little Highness, 


ienhof, and when we sent it back to him,yotir high- 
ness, with the message that your highness had given 
strict orders that no presents be received in Soph- 
ienhof, he sent it a second time, with the laconic 
note: ‘In accordance with her highness’s wish, 
which is a command to me.’ ” 

“ Strange ! It must be one of his charming jokes. 
Do you not suspect what it may be. Count Cyril ?” 

The young chamberlain shrugged his shoulders. 
“ I regret that I am not informed, your highness,” 
said he, in a hoarse voice. 

“Shall we open it, your highness?” asked Miss 
von Riegnitz, excitedly as a child. 

“ There is nothing else to be done, if I wish to 
learn what my own wish and command is.” Rafaela 
smilingly drew near, and the lackey and Miss Lola 
hastily removed the wrapping. 

“ Ah ! Choice flowers ! They form the frame ! 
A picture — a beautiful pastel ! Turn it toward the 
light, Jean ! What a magnificent^ castle ! What 
does it represent, your highness ?” 

The princess stared speechlessly at the flower- 
framed picture. 

“ Here comes No. 2 — the pendant. Almost more 
beautiful than the first. That is beautiful, but quite 
unfamiliar to me.” 

“ Yes, quite unfamiliar !” Rafaela blushed to the 
roots of her curly hair. “ Count Cyril, do you know 
these castles ? Are they Neudeck and Soldau?” 

Cyril slowly approached the little group. 

“ Yes, your highness, our old family possessions,” 
said he, dully. And his eyes rested as though in 


Her Little Highness. 


203 


frightened question upon her blushing, embarrassed- 
looking face. “How comes my father by such a 
strange idea ? Is it all a mistake !” 

Rafaela hastily shook her head. 

“ No, no — I remember now — I expressed a wish 
to see the castles — but — but — I did not fancy that 
your very charming father — ” In her embarrass- 
ment she stooped and touched a flower — a spray of 
orange-blossoms caught in the lace of her sleeve. 
She loosened it, and fastened it in her gown. “ Put 
the pictures here, in these two chairs, Jean, so, and 
now I ask you to leave me alone. It is already grow- 
ing dusk, and I wish to arrange the playthings for 
Henry quite alone.” She had gone to the window, 
and stared out, only giving a slight nod as Lola and 
Cyril left the room with a bow. 

She was alone. Quickly she turned, glanced 
around the room, then went up to one of the pic- 
tures — Castle Soldau ! 

Her cheeks were still deeply flushed, and the 
flush deepened the longer her gaze rested upon the 
pastel. 

How long she had wished to see his home ! Cy- 
ril had grown up here ; behind these walls he had 
lived for years ; here he would take the wife of his 
choice some day, to a life of secluded happiness, or 
so at least it was said he had told the duke, as reason 
for not desiring a career. 

Here ! How happy one might be in this idyllic 
old castle ! 

From this tower-room there would surely be the 
most beautiful view of the mountains. One could 


204 


Her Little Highness, 


look far down into the valley, for Castle Soldati lies 
on high ground. One could watch the foamy river 
rushing by, and the eye could wander for miles over 
the dark forest. 

Yes, here life would be beautiful for two who 
loved each other. Whom would he choose some day ? 

Rafaela drew a deep breath, and passed her hand 
over her forehead, as though to banish foolish 
thoughts. 

“ Alas they could ne’er come together, 

The waters were far too deep — ” 

Poor princess, how far removed from all happi- 
ness ; how solitary thou art ! 

The shadows deepen in the room. It seems as 
though invisible hands drew a dark veil over Castle 
Soldau. 

The princess still stands before it in deep thought. 
It was very charming in the captain to send her 
the pictures. Surely her most pleasant gift ; and 
yet — if only Cyril had not been at her side ! He 
had seen her confusion. He had gazed so pene- 
tratingly at her face. Suppose he should fathom 
her interest in his home, and conclude that her 
friendship for him was more deeply rooted than 
was apparent ! 

Rafaela pressed her little hands to her throbbing 
temples and smiled mournfully. No, Count Cyril 
does not think of love — that feeling does not exist 
is his calm, cold-blooded heart. He will marry 
some day from a sense of duty, but he will never 
know a true passion — nothing could be further from 
his whole nature. 


Her Little Highness. 205 


No, Cyril does not suspect that Rafaela wished to 
see Castle Soldau for his sake. She bends close down 
to the flowery frame, then, with fairly feverish zeal, 
begins to arrange the playthings for Carl Henr}^ 
under the spicy fir branches. 

Meanwhile, Count Cyril stands in the next room, 
at the high window, and stares out into the twilight 
of the park. He is absent-minded. So absent- 
minded that even the little prince turned from him 
and followed his English governess out of the room. 

Miss Lola had turned curiously to Cyril when the 
princess dismissed them both. 

“ Count Lankwitz, if this is the first Christmas sur- 
prise of her highness and your father, what will be the 
second ?” said she with a meaning smile, humming 
a few bars of the wedding march from “ Lohengrin.'’ 

The young chamberlain’s eyes flashed so threat- 
eningly upon the indiscreet young lady that Lola 
paused in alarm. He silently shrugged his shoulders 
and turned his back upon hen 

Then, piqued, she turned on her heel, and drew 
Carl Henry’s governess down on a sofa beside her, 
where they whispered and murmured over this 
latest bit of news, until the governess is called from 
the room, when Miss Lola, with a malicious glance 
at the “ schoolmaster in the chamberlain’s uniform ” 
seats herself at the piano and begins to thump out 
one Christmas carol after another. 

It seems to disturb him but little, for he- stares 
out at the winter landscape as calmly as though he 
were really as unsuspecting as he pretends. 

Lola cannot bear the count, since he ignores all 


2o6 


Her Little Highness. 


her coquetries, and always frowns upon any scandal 
repeated to him. What business has he here, since 
her highness has returned to Sophienhof? They 
have persuaded the princess that Carl Henry can 
not live without him, and so she summons him on 
all occasions. Perhaps the child is but the pretext, 
and the stern Hosanna must play the postilion 
cL amour, until time and public opinion permit 
‘‘ Madam Potiphar ” to bring home her “ chaste 
Joseph.” 

Lola bangs the keys more and more fiercely, and 
when the electric lights are turned on and Cyril 
calmly picks up a book and seats himself at one end 
of the room. Miss von Riegnitz closes the piano 
and leaves. 

* * * * * * 

The lights burn on the Christmas-tree, and Carl 
Henry, clinging in trembling excitement to Cyril’s 
hand, enters the room, staring with great, delighted 
eyes at his young mother, who hurries to meet him. 

Behind a thick screen of evergreens, some choir 
boys sing Christmas carols, and before the little 
prince stands a radiant form — Rafaela. 

“ Ye.s — now you are really the angel !” cries the 
child, with flushed cheeks, and throws his little 
arms around her. 

Soft folds of white silk envelop the princess’s 
form. A golden girdle confines them at her waist, 
and in her curly hair, she wears a little gold crown 
with a diamond star. 

“You dear lovely, Christmas angel!” cried .the 
child, smiling rapturously. 


Her Little Highness. 


207 


Rafaela’s young face chines with happiness ; it is 
beautiful to see her as she leads her little son to the 
tree. 

The Christmas carols are ended, and the room re- 
sounds with the little prince’s joyous cries. Rafaela 
hurries hither and thither, bringing all present up to 
her surprise table. 

She also comes up to Cyril. He does not look as 
happy as usual ; there are dark shadows beneath 
his eyes. She gives him a bewitching smile. 

“ Formerly, as a child, I bestowed an order upon 
a Lankwitz,” says she, jestingly. “ To-day, I am too 
old for such acts of self-will. I can only bestow 
decorations of thanks and friendship. Take this, 
count, and in after years remember the delightful 
stories which you used to tell my son of his mother.” 

She places a small case in his hand, and waits for 
him to open it. With trembling fingers, Cyril does 
so, and a faint cry of delight comes from his very 
heart. A picture in the form of a medallion, framed 
in sapphires and diamonds, representing the prin- 
cess as an angel, clad in white, with golden wings 
on her shoulders, and holding a twig of evergreen 
in her hand. 

“ Your highness,” he stammers, and again, “ Your 
highness !” She has never seen such a look in his 
eyes before. She holds out her hand confusedly. 
He presses it almost roughly to his burning lips. 

“ But now I seriously beg you to keep your prom- 
ise, Rafaela,” says the duke’s voice behind her. 
“You took a fancy that you would not hand me 
your list of wishes until this evening, and assured 


208 


Her Little Highness, 


me that I could fulfill them on the spot. Now, then, 
where is the paper?” 

The princess smilingly handed him a little en- 
velope, and while the duke opened it, Renee and 
Princess Hermine leaned over his shoulder with 
eager interest. 

All laugh heartily. 

“ Good gracious, you are partly very modest, 
partly very pretentious, in your demands, little sis- 
ter !” cries the duke, evidently pleased. “ But you 
forget that I am not a despot, that I cannot dispose of 
the bodies and souls of my subjects. Here, my dear 
Lankwitz ! This paper interests you. The princess 
begs Count Lankwitz as tutor for her son. You 
have something to say in connection with that, eh ?” 

The young chamberlain grows dizzy. He does 
not know what answer he makes, he only knows 
that he kisses the princess’s hand again, raises the 
delighted prince in his arms, and buries his face in 
the child’s soft, golden curls. 

Yes, it is Christmas, and a voice seems to murmur 
to his heart Peace on earth.” But hark! A shrill 
discord which cuts his heart like a two-edged sword. 

“ No, Rafaela, as yet I have not obtained the 
slightest information in regard to the pseudonym,” 
says the duke, behind him. “ Strangely enough, I 
was fully convinced that an estate like the Bahren- 
berg estate would burst even the most mysterious 
seven seals.” 

So this hope is crushed again !” How harsh 
and bitter sounds Rafaela’s sweet voice ! 

‘‘ Are you really so anxious to find out who the 



“ WHAT DOES THIS MEAN V'—See Page 212 . 


/ 








Her Little Highness. 


209 


person is who so mortally insulted you as the author 
of ‘ Madam Potiphar ?' I thought you had become 
quite calm.” 

Cyril does not see the princess’s face. He only 
sees how passionately she clasps her hands. 

“ Oh, Henry, I would give half my life to find it 
out !” 

Lankwitz draws back into a window recess, and 
buries his face in his hands with a groan. 

“ Oh, God, let this be enough punishment !” his 
heart cries out. “ I have sinned, but I have also 
atoned ! The angels promise me peace and happi- 
ness at Christmas time, and yet they drive me back 
again and again from the entrance of Paradise !” 
He set his teeth in passionate agony. A few hours 
before the confession of his fault had trembled on 
his lips. He had wished frankly to confess all to 
Rafaela, and now ? Her picture burns like fire upon 
his heart. 

Shall he sacrifice all, give up all that makes him 
partially happy ? Now, now when she herself has 
called him to be near her, when he saw her eyes 
shine so strangely — 

No, a thousand times no ! Rather die than lose 
her friendship now. He cannot. He would break 
his heart if he must be torn from her. 

In this hour he knows that his lips must be sealed 
forever. And he will carry his secret to the grave 
with him. He can bear everything but her dis- 
favor. 

Love which can make a hero of a man also makes 
him a coward and slave of his passion. 



CHAPTER XIX. 

Count Cyprian was a remarkably frequent guest 
in the Ohly house. 

At first he did not try to account for the charm 
that attracted him there, but soon he discovered 
that his thoughts were greatly occupied with Mign- 
on’s unusual, fresh, young self, and all th.e more 
the more opportunity he had to become better ac- 
quainted with her. 

She was decidedly different from most girls of 
her age. Very reserved, without being stiff, grave 
and yet with occasional flashes of roguishness which 
were all the more charming in contrast with her 
usual gravity. 

Cyprian became deeply interested to discover 
whether he was still capable of making an impres- 
sion upon this young girl’s heart. 

He remembered with great pleasure that young 
girls often have an especial liking for men con- 
siderably their seniors. His mirror told him that 
gossip was right in calling him the “ ever young and 
handsome.” His slightly gray hair made him, if pos- 
sible, more interesting ; scarcely a wrinkle disfigured 
his handsome features, and many ladies, old and 
[ 210 ] 


Her Little Highness, 


21 I 


young, raved over him. Why should Mignon Ohly 
alone prove an exception ? 

She did not betray by the slightest sign that his 
coming and going interested her more than that of 
any other. At first she had often blushed, without 
especial cause, down to her white throat when he 
spoke to her or looked at her unexpectedly, but she 
seemed to have noticed that he often made use of 
this trick to watch her, and became more and more 
shy and reserved. 

Besides this, the count still impatiently racked his 
brains to think where he had seen Mignon before, 
or whom she so strikingly resembled. It was a 
fleeting recollection, but it annoyed him that he 
could not place it, especially the beautiful golden 
hair. Yet all his thinking was in vain. 

As the season had been very quiet on account of 
the court mourning. Baroness Ohly, at the wish of 
many friends, had arranged a series of evenings for 
reading modern and classical plays. This evening 
they were to run over several one-act farces, and 
Cyprian remembered that some years before he 
had once played the role of lover in one of 
these. He must still possess the copy of this rote, 
and had promised to look for it among all the faded 
souvenirs of his writing-desk. 

So he sat in the fading winter afternoon light at 
his desk and drew out one souvenir after another, 
amusing himself at sight of some long-forgotten 
ones. 

He smoked an excellent Havana and hummed to 
himself a merry tune : 


212 


Her Little Highness. 


“ It is astonishing what a quantity of billets-doux 
and keepsakes one person can accumulate,” he said 
to himself, knocking the ashes from his cigar, as he 
opened an elegant portfolio filled with papers. 

“ What have we here ? All the notes of what seems 
to have been an unusually gay season. Strange 
writing — a lady’s writing. The deuce ! Baroness 
Ohly ! What does this mean ?” 

A flush rises to his face as he reads, and an ex- 
clamation as joyous as that of any boy escapes his 
lips ; then he laughs with radiant eyes, as he has 
not laughed for a long time. A kiss, a pledged kiss 
from Mignon ! This discovery is worth millions ! 
And he had wholly forgotten this delightful pledge ! 
Incomprehensible ! 

The captain sprang up and paced the room ex- 
citedly. A kiss from Mignon ! Shall he claim it? 
Yes, indeed, at any price ! 

Valleral had kissed many women in his life, but 
never . such lips as Mignon ’s. He will be the first 
butterfly to sip the dew from this blossom, and no 
one shall deprive him of this privilege. The cap- 
tain has not been so excited for years. 

It seems to him that his heart beats more rapidly 
than such an elderly heart should, at thought of 
Mignon’s kiss. Shall he ask permission? Non- 
sense ! He will surprise her, and only after the 
deed is accomplished will he show his important 
document. 

Then his friend, Florence, will laugh, and call 
him a “ dreadful man but she will forgive him. 
And Mignon ? She will blush like a rose ; she will 


Her Little Highness. 


213 


hang her head, and perhaps fly like a vshy roe ; but 
she will not be really angry, for, so far, all women 
have been more than willing that Yalleral should 
kiss them. 

She will dream of this kiss, and as often as she 
sees her rosy lips in the mirror, she will think of the 
first kiss imprinted upon them. 

Cyprian will see that she is not angry too long. 
Hastily he consults his watch. It is high time for 
him to dress. With nervous haste he throws the 
papers, dried flowers, handkerchiefs, gloves and 
other things back into the drawers of his desk, and 
rings for his valet. 

“ Hey, my Figaro,” he cries to the man, “ show 
what you can do now. Use your arts to make of 
the old captain a young lieutenant. It is very neces- 
sary to-day, Moulin.” 

Moulin smiles, and flatters his master with all the 
refinement of a Parisian valet. 

When the count drove up to the Ohly villa, the 
butler opened the door in some surprise. 

“Well, am I too early?” laughed Cyprian. 

“ The ladies have not yet entered the drawing- 
room, count. It just struck half-past seven.” 

“ The devil ! Are the rooms lighted ?” 

“Of course, count, everything is ready.” 

“Good! Do not announce me.* I will wait here 
patiently until the ladies appear.” 

“ Yes, sir !” 

The man threw open the folding doors, and Cyp- 
rian entered the warm, perfumed, brightly-lighted 
suite of rooms, quite willing to have an opportunity 


Her Little Highness. 


214 


of examining at his ease all the treasures which 
“ Friend Florence ” had collected during her travels. 

A thousand and one elegant trifles. A modern 
drawing-room has no style unless it is that of the 
frequent international exhibitions. 

Cyprian thoughtfully walks through the rooms. 
He knows them all, but here, here at the end, next 
the baroness’s boudoir, a door stands half open. 

“ I do not remember this room,” thinks the cap- 
tain, peeping cautiously through the portieres. 

There is no one there. A rose-shaded lamp casts 
a dreamy, soft light over the delightful little room, 
which is furnished in rococo style, with pink-flow- 
ered satin, filmy draperies, Meissen porcelain statu- 
ettes, palms and flowers, together with sketches and 
cheap little articles, evidently relics of boarding- 
school days. 

Aha, Mignon’s mysterious realm ! The inevitable 
writing-desk, so loaded with ornaments that there 
is room for anything but writing, stands near, a 
window, and, good gracious, souvenirs ! 

There must be some trait in human nature to ex- 
plain why memory loves to cling to tangible objects. 
Bunches of artificial flowers, little glass slippers, 
new year’s cards, vases and last, not least, numer- 
ous pictures of very young ladies. Oh sacred “ al- 
liance chiffon d' enfant r you, too, demand your 
rights of the world ! 

It is delightful to be able to rummage undis- 
turbed in such a treasure trove ; only, unfortunately, 
there is no diary in sight. I have no scruples or 
honor when a boarding-school diary is in question. 


Her Little Highness. 


215 


Ah — matters become more poetic. A red rose, 
framed, with a date beneath — Good heavens, this 
is serious! ‘ September ist, 18 — !’ This date seems 
familiar to me. Let us see ! vSeptember ist, the 
year of the princess’s marriage. The deuce, yes, on 
the ist of September I returned to the capital and 
saw the unhappy entrance of the young couple. 
And this red rose — ” Cyprian suddenly raised his 
head and stared at it. “ Is it possible that it could 
have been Mignon ! Of course, of course. Fool 
that I was, was I blind that I did not recognize her ? 
The braids which enslaved me — her lovely eyes ! 
Mignon, actually Mignon !” 

The captain excitedly sat down before the writing- 
desk and took the little frame in his hand. 

His rose ! A sudden great joy overcame the man. 

“ Delightful of the sweet girl ! Really, that is 
fairly touching. She keeps the rose here as a 
souvenir of me — of me ! And donkey that I am, I 
did not recognize her ! Infamous !” Mechanically 
he turned the frame over. There was a verse writ- 
ten on the back : 

Once more gladly would I meet thee 
And into thy dear eyes gaze ; 

But whate’er my fate, always, 

Oh, dear heart. I’ll bless and greet thee !” 

Cyprian became quite overcome with delight. 
This was a surprise. Won, won at sight ! He really 
did not care to have it made so easy for him, and it 
was just Mignon ’s reserve which had so attracted 
him. Still, it flattered his vanity, and it is always 
pleasant to know that one is loved. 


2I6 


Her Little Highness, 


Now he will certainly kiss her. Now he need fear 
absolutely nothing. Valleral puts the frame care- 
fully back in its place, and hastily leaves the room, 
for he thinks he hears Baroness Ohly’s laughing 
voice. 

Unfortunately, several of the members of the 
reading-circle have sent regrets. There are but 
four other guests beside Count Cyprian. They 
chat for a while over their tea ; now they sit in 
their hostess’s boudoir^ and, after assigning roles, 
begin to read a comedy. 

Count Lankwitz is more hilarious than usual, and 
friend Florence frequently has to call him to order. 

‘‘ Why, count ! What are you reading ? That is 
not in the book !” 

“ Ha, ha! He is improving upon the classics!” 

“ Famous! That joke was worth more than the 
the whole play !” 

This from the guests. 

“ Hush ! Now he becomes lyric. He even sings.” 

“ Dreadful ! My dear baron, pray take the book 
from him.” 

“ Miss Mignon, I would be vexed if I were you. 
He sings that song to you !” 

“ Pardon. He is supposed to be thinking of his 
‘ sweet Lilly,’ of whom I am only the echo !” The 
young girl laughs. She sits near the blazing wood 
fire, which throws a red light on her hair. 

“ If I only knew whether the before-mentioned 
Lilly had such magnificent braids as the sweet 
Mignon,” sighs Cyprian, with a speaking glance. 
“For the sake of such braids I would even be a 


Her Little Highness. 


217 


modern Laocodn and let myself be hopelessly en- 
tangled in the bright serpents.” 

Mignon blushed, and her mother rapped on the 
table with her fan. 

Nonsense ! Lilly is white as snow and black as 
ebony. Now, go on reading ! Finish your mono- 
logue, count. It becomes more and more senti- 
mental. You see a lady approaching from a 
distance, you hear again the long -sought siren 
voice singing : ‘ O press thy cheek against my 
cheek !’ ” 

“ Go on, baroness. Sing so that you may aid my 
imagination : ‘ O press thy ear against my ear.’ ” 

“ Good for nothing ! I propose that we give it up 
for this evening. The captain is in such a mood 
that he absolutely can not enter into the spirit of 
his roleL 

Then there was a period of general amusement. 

“You wrong me, baroness. You shall see that I 
am heart and soul in it. Now then, I rush for- 
ward — ” 

“ Stop ! F'or mercy’s sake do not upset the table.” 

“ I cry joyously : ‘ Mignon, sweet Mignon, have I 
found you at last? You, the mysterious singer, at 
whose feet, on the ist of September, I threw the 
red rose — ’ ” 

“Nonsense ! Your charmer’s name is Lilly. No 
improvisations, if you please !” 

Baroness von Ohly said it laughingly, much 
amused at Cyprian’s gayety, but Mignon suddenly 
seemed petrified, and stared at the speaker with 
great, wide-opened eyes. 


2i8 


Her Little Highness » 


Valleral’s eyes were fixed on her crimson face. 
He continued, with passionate gesticulation : 

“ I open my arms passionately — ” 

“ That is crossed out ; keep away !” 

I throw them around the startled girl — ” 

“ For Heaven’s sake, count, are you crazy?” 

A faint, horrified cry, which is drowned in the 
universal tumult. 

Cyprian had suited the action to the word ; he 
had sprung up, canght Mignon in his arms, and 
kissed her trembling lips. 

Half fainting from fright, the young girl sinks 
back into her chair, but Florence stands drawn up 
to her full height, incapable of a word, as are all the 
others. 

“Count Lankwitz — that — that was infamous!” 
comes finally from the baroness’s lips. She looks 
highly insulted and indignant. 

The captain turns to her with a beaming face, 
and humbly folds his hands. 

“ Not infamous, dear lady, it was simply my 
right !” 

“ Your right !” Florence’s voice is very sharp. 

Instead of replying, Cyprian draws a folded paper 
from his pocket and hands it to her, with eyes danc- 
ing with mirth. 

The baroness glances at it, flushes and bites her 
lips. Then she laughs, at first faintly and embar- 
rassedly, then more loudly, and evidently is concili- 
ated. 

“ I certainly never suspected such a trick, and, in 
spite of my indignation, must declare myself power- 


Her Little Highness. 


219 


less. Horrible, count ! Such a gocd memory and 
redemption of a pledge are not gentlemanly.” 

“ But intoxicatingly sweet and agreeable,” de- 
clared the captain, seizing the speaker’s two hands 
and drawing them to his lips. His face is deeply 
flushed. “You will forgive me, will you not?” he 
pleads softly. 

“Unfortunately I have no right to be angry,” 
laughs Florence, hastily freeing her hands, and 
holding out the paper to the astonished spectators. 
“ Here, friends, look, listen !” 

She reads aloud the bold words which, years be- 
fore, at supper at a court ball, had been written on 
this paper. 

Stormy applause is paid this trick of Valleral, and 
the captain, doubly encouraged, turns to Mignon 
and tries to draw her hands to his lips, giving her 
a most meaning glance. 

But she draws them violently away. She has 
risen, and stands beside her chair, her lovely face so 
colorless that Cyprian gazes at her in alarm. 

Then their eyes meet. Never has the count gazed 
into such a pair of beautiful, flashing, furious eyes 
before. All her deeply wounded pride, indignation 
and shame lie reflected in them, and they fill with 
tears. She tries to speak, her lips quiver in vain. 
Then she turns her back upon the offender and has 
left the room before any one can detain her. 

“ Good heavens, count, what have you done !” 
cries Florence, anxiously. “ Mignon is not the per- 
son to play such jokes upon. She is mortally in- 
sulted, and possibly will tell her poor, sick father 


220 


Her Little Highness. 


strange tales of what is going on down here in the 
drawing-room.” 

Cyprian stands motionless, his eyes still fixed 
upon the door behind which the young girl has dis- 
appeared. His handsome face wears an expression 
never seen there before. 

“ ‘ With her thorns did prick the rose,’ ” said he, 
smiling, and drawing a deep breath. “ ‘ Vain were 
all his cries and woes, for he then must bear it.’ ” 
And once more bowing over the baroness’s hand 
with somewhat excited gayety, he assured her : 
“ Do not worry, my lady, it shall be my task to ap- 
pease your charming little one, that no shadow 
may rest upon this hour. Early to-morrow. I beg 
your protection and help in the necessary peace 
preliminaries. Now I will leave the field, before 
Miss Mignon calls up a storm of indignation around 
my head. Au revoirl' he bent his radiant face quite 
near and whispered : ‘‘ Dearest mamma-in-law.” 



\ 



CHAPTER XX. 

Count Cyprian had not waited for his carriage, 
but hurried home on foot. The valet evidently had 
not expected his master before midnight, for he was 
away, and the captain entered his smoking-room, 
which was lighted only by the reflection of the 
street lamp opposite. 

This dim light was to his taste. He removed his 
overcoat and threw himself upon a divan. His 
head burned, his pulses seemed on fire. He pressed 
his face against the sofa pillows like a love-sick boy, 
and laughed : 

“ Valleral, crazy fellow, what have you done?” 

Cyprian had kissed so many women in his life, 
but now all kisses are forgotten for those innocent, 
pure lips. How proudly her eyes had flashed ! It 
seemed to the man that he had suddenly left be- 
hind him the noise and dust of the streets, and 
entered a church upon whose altar stood the stain- 
less lilies of innocence. An indescribable longing 
fills his heart, a longing for the paradise of pure 
love. 

Is he justified in asking that of fate ? Can and 

[ 221 ] 


222 


Her Little Highness. 


dare he, a man at the turning-point of life, stretch 
out his arms for young spring ? 

Unlike ! Mignon, the budding blossom ; he, the 
tree in autumn, through whose branches so many 
storms have howled ! Unlike, they are too unlike, 
and yet : Only in love can unlike mate with un- 
like.” Yes, the sharpest contrasts can be blended 
by the enchantress love. 

The captain rises and presses the electric button 
which turns on the light, sits down, and in nervous 
haste writes a letter to Mignon’s parents, asking 
for the hand of their daughter. 

They will be an unlike couple. Dame Gossip 
will wring her hands, but the captain will defy her 
and ask : “ Have you forgotten the bright arch that 
connects heaven and earth? Love is its name.” 

What a state of feverish excitement the count 
was in all that night and the next day ! He paced 
his rooms restlessly as a caged lion. Every ring at 
the door bell made him start ; no day had ever 
seemed so long. 

At last ! Late in the evening the valet brings a 
letter to his master. The man’s black eyes are 
fixed on the count’s flushed face, for he suspects 
that this letter contains important news. 

Cyprian’s hands tremble with excitement as he 
opens the elegant envelope. He had never thought 
it possible he could feel thus. 

He reads. At first the letters dance before his 
eyes, then suddenly they grow distinct, and he 
reads. Impossible! Unheard of! He, Count 
Cyprian Lankwitz has been rejected ! Slowly he 


Her Little Highness. 


223 


sinks down into an armchair and stares at the 
graceful writing in which Florence communicates 
to him the hopeless fact that, unfortunately, her 
silly, obstinate little girl could not be induced to 
say yes. Neither representations nor coaxing could 
shake her in her resolution. 

No reason was given for Mignon’s refusal. Only 
at the close the baroness remarked that it was very 
necessary that the count consider such a step care- 
fully, as an old proverb truly said : 

‘^Race, lands and years in equal share. 

Will ever make the happiest pair.” 

For a moment Cyprian felt as though his hopes had 
been shipwrecked, and as though the waves were 
dashing over his head. But only for a moment ; then 
he sprang up and threw his head back proudly. Now 
Mignon is a thousand times dearer to him than be- 
fore, and if he had only felt before that he loved 
her, now he longed for her with all his passionate 
heart. 

Resistance is just what he had never encountered 
before, and it spurs him on to fresh ventures. He 
rings the bell violently, and orders his overcoat and 
hat. He will learn for himself why Mignon spurns 
him. He is not offended or angry ; no, he whistles to 
himself, with a smile on his face, and as he walks 
hastily through the mild, damp air, he even notices 
how suddenly the weather has changed. Why 
should it not ? Has not one night sufficed to change 
his whole heart ? Where yesterday, with cool cal- 
culation and worldly wisdom, the hand of a princess 
was his sole aim, the capricious god of love has 


224 


Her Little Highness, 


to-day enthroned in his heart a young girl, who has 
overthrown all other idols. 

Cyprian rings the bell of the Ohly villa violently. 

The baroness had not wished to receive any more 
visitors that evening, but the count’s plea of urgent 
business obliged the butler to announce him. 

Florence, in an elegant silk house gown, rises 
from her chair near the fire, tosses aside a book, 
and comes to meet the captain with outstretched 
hands. 

'' Pauvre (liable says she, laughing in her care- 
less way. “ Do you come to weep with me over the 
ruins of Carthage ?” 

He kisses her hand. 

“ Heaven forbid !” says he, jestingly. “ The Car- 
thage of my hopes is not yet in ruins. On the con- 
trary, the commander advances to take the hostile 
territory by storm.” 

“ Oh, you credulous innocent !” 

“ This painful sigh which doubts my success as- 
sures me that the mother-in-law is already won.” 

But if she is your sole booty, you are in a double 
sense defeated,” laughed Florence. 

Cyprian teasingly shrugged his shoulders. 

“ Why dwell upon this most terrible of possibili- 
ties? My circumstances would never permit me 
such extravagance.” 

“This is the leading up to your pecuniary affairs,” 
cried she, amused, and leaning forward, added in a 
sepulchral whisper : “ Have you debts?” 

He nodded with droll gloominess, and wrung his 
hands. 


Her Little Highness. 


225 


“ Unhappy man, how many?” 

He fairly cringed at thought of the sum he was 
about to name. 

“ One dollar and thirty-five cents to my barber 
for cologne,” he murmured dully. 

“ Spendthrift !” With a crushing glance the bar- 
oness took out her pocketbook. “ There, pay your 
debts, and appear before my husband with head 
erect, and see if you can win him.” 

She rose and was about to ring, but Cyprian seized 
her hands and drew them to his lips. 

“ Oh, you angel — ” 

“ Do not prevaricate so !” 

There are bad angels.” 

Oh, truly. Pardon. Well, what do you want ?” 

“ Let me not see your hUvSband first. It will be bet- 
ter for Mignon and me to ask his blessing together.” 

“You wish to declare your love personally to my 
little girl ?” 

“ I should like to try and correct the poor taste 
she has shown in not accepting me.” 

“ Very well. I will let matters take their own 
course !” cried Florence, and ringing the bell, she 
said to the butler : “ Ask Baroness Mignon to come 
here, but do not say that a guest is present.” 

The door opened, and Mignon hastily entered. 
She wore a plain, blue cloth gown, and glanced first 
at the lounge. Seeing this unoccupied, she looked 
around the room in surprise. The lights were heav- 
ily shaded, and it was an instant before she caught 
sight of Cyprian’s handsome, smiling face. 

The young girl started slightly, then threw her 


226 


Her Little Highness. 


head back proudly, while her lovely Madonna face 
wore a more scornful, repellent look than Lankwitz 
would have thought possible. 

“ Good evening, my dear Miss Mignon.” 

His gay tone seemed almost ironical, and she 
flushed hotly, bowed slightly, and started to leave 
the room. 

“ A moment. Miss Mignon !” 

More quick than she, he stood at her side, barring 
her exit. 

“ You owe me an answer which I am justified in 
asking.” 

She freed her fingers energetically. 

“An answer?” said she, with flashing eyes. 
“ Has not my mother given it to you ?” 

He drew up a chair. 

“ Let us sit down. The discussion promises to be 
lengthy,” said he with a smile, but she remained 
standing, her whole face expressing opposition. 

“ An answer is quickly given. I am in a hurry.” 

“ So much the better ! Tell me very quickly that 
your mother’s letter was a great mistake, and that 
you love me as hugely as I love you, Mignon.” 

He went up to her with outstretched hands, al- 
though she drew back angrily. 

“ Did mamma call me here to expose me once 
more to your insults. Count Lankwitz? I forbid 
your jests, which you should not permit yourself to 
make to a school-girl, far less to me !” 

“ ‘ Jests ?’ ” He frowned slightly. “ I stand before 
you in all earnestness, and wish to prove this to 
you.” 


Her Little Highness. 


227 


She shrugged her shoulders. 

“So much the worse if you can compromise a 
lady in all earnestness. As you mention my 
mother’s letter, I know that you have received my 
answer, and think further conversation unneces- 
sary.” 

Again she turned to the door, but she paused in- 
voluntarily when Cyprian called her name shortly, 
almost imperatively. 

He came to her side. The smile had left his 
face, his eyes flashed threateningly, they were so 
changed that Mignon gazed at him in surprise.” 

“ The answer which I desire you have not yet 
given me. When a man asks for a girl’s hand, when 
he gives her his whole heart and life and love, he 
is justified in demanding confidence in return. To 
refuse an offer of marriage is no child’s play, and a 
suitor may at least ask a reason for his rejection. 
You refused me without giving a reason, and I am 
here to learn this reason.” 

He had spoken loudly and violently, and during 
the words Mignon had stood proudly erect. Excite- 
ment drove the blood to her cheeks ; she could 
scarcely control her passionate irritation sufficiently 
to give him the desired information. 

“ When a man gives a girl his whole heart and 
life and love !” cried she, bitterly. “Yes, then he 
may expect a different answer. But I think the 
manner of such a man would be different from 
yours, count. You ask a reason for my refusal? 
Good, you shall hear it ! If I ever engage myself 
to a man” — she flushed still more deeply — “I expect 


228 


Her Little Highness. 


first of all of him that he woo me properly, with 
chivalric honor and the necessary respect. I do 
not wish to be my husband’s plaything, his baby 
and pastime. I insist that, above all things, he 
treat me with respect, and not as a foolish child to 
whom one owes neither respect nor devotion.” 

“Is this a complaint against me? Have I pos- 
sibly not treated you in the right manner?” 

“You? Me?” came like a horrified cry from her 
lips. “ No, I am convinced that you would never 
havO permitted yourself to take such liberties with 
a lady whom you respected. In a mood, which re- 
minds one of a champagne intoxication, you join 
our circle, jesting and parodying in a manner which 
certainly would not lead one to think you seriously 
in love. When a man recites verses as you did, 
and then suddenly clasps his neighbor in his arms 
and kisses her, no deep emotion is the cause ; on 
the contrary, he has mocked her most flippantly, 
because — because my youth did not seem worth 
your respect. Your offer of marriage was to atone 
for the liberty you had taken with a girl, when 
under the influence of wine, and the girl sent you 
the only possible answer. So we are quits. Now 
you know the reason of my refusal, and I hope will 
annoy me no longer.” 

She had spoken with increasing violence. Cyp- 
rian’s eyes had rested delightedly upon her proud 
face. He had flushed at her words, and bit his lips 
in sudden confusion, but his face had brightened 
more and more, and now Valleral’s old humor shone 
in the eyes, so grave a moment before. 


Her Little High^tess. 


229 


“ I thank you for your frankness, Miss Mignon, 
and thank you for the sweet confession which, un- 
consciously, you have just made. Man cannot fight 
against his nature, and the love which makes other 
people sentimental, perhaps, or pathetic and mourn- 
ful, with me bubbles up like the best champagne. 
And I love you, Mignon. I love you with all my 
heart, and I will prove this to you, because you love 
me too.” 

She had turned her face away ; now she gazed at 
him with her old defiance. 

“ I do not love you. Who dares say that?” 

He bent forward with such a fascinating glance 
that she hastily averted her eyes. 

‘‘ You, yourself, Mignon !” said he, gently. “ The 
reason you give for refusing me comes from your 
pride. You are still too distrustful and revolution- 
ary a member of the ''Alliance chiffon di enfant I 
Your heart had nothing whatever to do with the re- 
fusal you sent me, for instead of the long story that 
your offended pride told me, your heart would 
simply have bid you tell me : ‘ I will not marry you, 
because I do not love you.’ But you did not say 
that, Mignon, because you could not lie, and because 
the red rose on your writing-desk would at once 
have contradicted you.” 

She started so violently that her hand grasped 
the silken portieres. 

“ That rose ?” she stammered. “ What has that 
rose to do with you ?” 

“ I gave it to you, and you kept it as a souvenir of 
me, Mignon !” How near he bent down toward 


230 


Her Little Highness, 


her, how tightly he clasped her hand ! A sudden 
fear overcame her. She does not surrender so 
easily. With a sudden movement she freed her 
hand. 

“ As a souvenir of you ? What a false idea she 
cried violently. “ Whoever told you this tale of the 
rose on my writing-desk was taking advantage of 
you. You certainly gave me the flower, but I kept 
it as a souvenir of the home-coming of Princess Ra- 
faela, whom I honor and love with all my heart. 
The rose was a souvenir of my princess, my lovely 
princess alone ; but I shall now give it up since it 
has been so falsely interpreted by you. You cannot 
flght against your nature ! Very good. I cannot 
flght against mine, and a love which foams like 
champagne and dies away as quickly as this foam 
will always be a mystery and unsympathetic to me.” 
And with a brief nod the angry little goddess 
disappeared, and Valleral stood motionless and 
looked after her. Had he made a false play ? Had 
he really lost her forever ? He tosses his head back 
with his old gay laugh. He is madly in love with 
the sweet, deflant, sharp-thorned little rose, who 
shall learn to like champagne foam — coUte qiii 
coUte ! 

Baroness Ohly once more stands beside him. 

“Well, can my husband give his blessing?” she 
asks, with good-natured mockery. 

He laughs with her. 

“ Not to-day and not to-morrow, but somewhat 
later.”. 


CHAPTER XXI. 


The thaw, which had lasted only three days, had 
melted the snow on the park lake, and when, dur- 
ing the night a sharp frost had occurred, the surface 
was such a smooth glare of ice that the duchess 
gave orders to prepare the lake for a court skating 
party. 

The park, usually so quiet, now presented an un- 
usually gay scene. The regimental band played, 
and carriages rolled hither and thither. 

Count Cyril Lankwitz, who had already entered 
his somewhat premature office of tutor to the little 
prince, waited with Princess Rafaela’s retinue for 
her highness to appear. 

As he had been detained over some work of Prin- 
cess Hermine’s, Cyril had made use of the little side 
corridor which connected Princess Rafaela’s private 
apartments with the ground-floor by means of a 
winding staircase. 


[231] 


232 


Her Little Highness. 


This corridor, usually so dark, was quite light. 
The young princess seemed to have left her dress- 
ing-room already, for the door stood open, and in- 
voluntarily in passing Cyril had glanced in. 

He started slightly. 

At the foot of the divan, upon which the princess 
loved to recline, stood an easel, and upon that, the 
light falling full upon it, stood the picture of Castle 
Soldau, his father’s gift ! 

It seemed to be guarded with especial care. A 
charming arrangement of blooming plants sur- 
rounded it, and — a sharp pain shot through the 
count’s heart — on the broad rococo frame a photo- 
graph was fastened. A man’s head, it seemed, and 
who could it be but his father ? 

Cyril rushed on as though pursued. 

So, then, she does love him, although in her first 
passionate excitement over “ Madam Potiphar” she 
had denied it to the duke. 

Almost at the same time two laidies-in-waiting re- 
turned to the dressing-room from the boudoir. 

“ Ha, ha ! In her haste she has left the photo- 
graph out to-day,” said one in a loud voice. “ Well, 
was I not right ? It is Count Lankwitz ! I told 
you so.” 

With feverish haste Cyril rushed on. It seemed 
to him as though he must put his hands to his ears 
that he need hear nothing more — he knew enough. 

When he entered the hall, the folding doors of 
the orangery were at that moment thrown open, and 
Rafaela, followed by a court lady, hurried toward 
the waiting retinue. 


Her Little Highness. 


233 


She wore a costume of dark-green velvet and 
sable, and a toque of the same rested upon her 
graceful head. A bunch of magnificent roses was 
fastened to her little muff. 

It was the first time that the princess had of- 
ficially appeared in colors. 

She looked very gay and animated, her dark eyes 
flashed, and her delicately oval face was rosy be- 
neath her fine gauze veil. She turned and smiled 
at Count Cyril, but a shadow clouded her face 
almost immediately. 

Do you not feel well, count ? You look so — so 
strange.” 

The chamberlain bowed. 

“ I can complain of no physical ailment, your 
highness,” said he, attempting to jest. 

“You work too hard. I must command you to 
join our skating-parties more frequently.” The 
flush on her cheeks deepened. She quickly turned 
to the door and entered one carriage, while Cyril 
and Miss von Riegnitz followed in another. 

Cyril glanced at the first smaller lake, which was 
crowded with skaters. The larger one was reserved 
for the court. 

Count Cyprian stood among a group of officers 
and gazed at the approaching carriages with evident 
impatience. All the men hurried to intercept the 
footman and open the carriage door for the prin- 
cess, but the rest drew back as a matter of course 
before the captain, allowing him to assist her high- 
ness alone. So, then, the conviction of society that 
every day may bring the announcement of the en- 


234 


Her Little Highness. 


gagement of this much discussed couple, is deeply 
rooted. Who are so well suited to each other as 
Madam Potiphar and Valleral ? 

“ Dear me, count, why do you sigh so dolefully?” 
said Miss Lola’s clear, mocking voice at his side. 
“ Does the sight of so many gay children of the 
world fill you with horror ?” 

“ The sight of a single one is sufficient,” said he, 
with a touch of his old sharpness. Then he opens 
the carriage door and springs out. 

Rafaela seems to have thanked Count Cyprian 
very briefly. She already advances toward the 
group of court ladies. 

Good day, father !” 

“ Good day, my boy.” 

The captain slaps his son somewhat absently on 
the shoulder. The princess’s shortness must have 
vexed him, for there is a strange frown between 
his brows. Cyril knows that his father’s vanity is 
his vulnerable spot. Has he not said himself : “ A 
lady’s graciousness cools me. Coolness attraets me.” 

He stares moodily along the park road. 

“ Are you not skating to-day?” 

Cyprian shrugs his shoulders. 

“ I suppose I must. The duchess looks upon it, 
as well as dancing, as an affair of service.” 

“Will you accompany me ?” 

“ Go on ahead. I will come after you.” 

“ Farewell !” 

Au revoir, boy!” 

Yes, he seems out of temper and unusually ex- 
cited. A tormenting unrest overcomes Cyril, a de- 


Her Little Highness. 


235 


spairing passion which flashes in his gloomy eyes. 
He turns and goes. Cyprian still gazes along the 
road. The carriages are returning. 

“ Unheard of ! Are they not coming?” 

Cyprian goes up to a couple of ladies, and greet- 
ing them in his usual affable manner, asks, as though 
it were an afterthought : 

“Where is Baroness Ohly?” 

“ Ohly !” 

The ladies are electrified, and the younger cries : 

“ Only think what foolishness. Count Lankwitz ! 
Florence must be ill or insane. Now, in the depth 
of winter, the whole family depart for Castle Bah- 
renberg. Is that permissible ?” 

Cyprian’s handsome face is the picture of the ut- 
most amazement, but he quickly recovers himself 
and says laughingly : 

“ To Bahrenberg ? Are they going to dream 
away a winter idyl, or is it business connected with 
an inheritance that makes their presence there un- 
necessary ?” 

“ Inheritance ? No author of ‘ Madam Potiphar ’ 
has presented himself yet, and — who knows ? Per- 
haps at a certain time the will becomes invalid. I 
await a letter of explanation from Florence, for such 
a French leave is unpardonable.” 

Cyprian draws back as some others join the ladies. 
He stands aside and backs at the ice with his skate. 
His brow is clouded ; no one has ever seen Valleral 
so out of sorts as he is to-day. ^ 

The news that villa Ohly is suddenly deserted 
passes from mouth to mouth, and some one tells 


236 


Her Little Highness. 


Cyril with much positiveness, that, by a clause of 
the will, the inheritance falls to Florence in case 
the author of “ Madam Potiphar ” does not an- 
nounce himself within a certain time. 

He hears it with the utmost indifference. Just then 
his father comes up to him and whispers excitedly : 

“ Rafaela avoids me very ostentatiously ; I implore 
you, my dear boy, arrange that she command me to 
skate with her. I must speak to her. I must^ 
Cyril, do you hear?” and he glides noiselessly away. 

It seems to the young tutor that his heart will 
cease beating. There is no doubt that his father 
wishes to bring the matter to a decision to-day. 
Cyril’s heart cries out in pain and torment. His 
father ! Why his own father, whom he cannot bit- 
terly oppose ? And yet in thought he does so ; he 
feels that suddenly a gulf opens between them, 
which all the reverence of his childhood, all his 
obedience, cannot bridge. 

They are as unlike as fire and water, yet their 
love has been mutually deep until to-day. 

Princess Rafaela stands beside her brother and 
lays her hand on his arm to rest a moment. The 
duke glances tenderly at her rosy face, which has 
never seemed so fresh and lovely to him as to-day. 
And as he watches her more closely he sees what a 
happy change has taken place in her expression. 
The bold, childish obstinacy has disappeared, and 
in its place has come a mild gentleness. She looks 
happy. Is it because she has won the love of her 
child? * 

That also; but there is something else in the 


Her Little Highness. 237 


radiance of her expression. Can that sweet, all- 
powerful love, which she denied a short time before, 
have come to her? The duke’s eyes follow the 
captain’s handsome figure anxiously as the latter 
skates rapidly and proudly past. 

A feeling of uneasiness overcomes him. Count 
Cyprian is no suitable husband for Rafaela. Not 
because he was not born to the purple, but because 
he lacks all that could make a character such as his 
sister happy for long. Fortunately the princess has 
taken but little notice of him to-day, although this 
may be only a sweet shrinking from displaying to 
the public, as yet, this, her heart’s deepest emotion. 

Rafaela’s voice rouses him from his thoughts. 

“ Henry, I would like to ask you something.” 

He glances down at her in surprise. 

“ Well, man has leave to ask one question of fate,” 
says he, jokingly. 

The young princess glances at the opposite side 
of the park. There a broad canal connects the lake 
with the distant river. 

“ See how fascinating it looks over there in the 
snowy forest. I should so like to flee from this 
noisy crowd and explore the canal. It looks so ro- 
mantic, the ice is like glass, and they say more than 
three feet thick, so there could be ho danger in such 
an extra turn. Henry, could I skate on the canal 
without making myself conspicuous?” 

‘‘ Certainly, my darling. These are no hot springs, 
nor do robbers lurk in the woods. With a suitable 
escort the way is open to you. Whom did you think 
of summoning to your side ?” 


238 


Her Little Highness. 


She gazed attentively at her skate. 

“ I thought of Count Lankwitz — ” 

“ Cyprian ?” says the duke, anxiously. 

She shook her head violently. 

“ Oh, no. Cyril, as Henry’s tutor, stands nearer 
to me.” 

The duke drew a deep breath. 

“ Very true. I tell you frankly that Count Cyril 
is probably the only one of our courtiers with whom 
you could absent yourself without exciting talk.” 

‘•Why?” said she, looking up suddenly. 

“ Because he is, thank Heaven, the exact opposite 
of his father. The captain is a thorough gentle- 
man, but there is a certain something about his 
nature and reputation which scarcely makes him 
suited to act as chaperon to a lady. Cyril, on the 
other hand, will never compromise a lady. His 
reputation is faultless, his manner so strictly reli- 
able, that scandal would never venture to attack 
him. At his side you are safe. At his father’s you 
are exposed to calumny.” 

Rafaela raised the roses on her muff to her lips. 
Her face was crimson. 

“Oh, Henry,” she cried, excitedly, “how fine it 
is when a man’s reputation and honor are so unim- 
peachable ! Why was not Cyril always my guardian 
spirit ? So much, much trouble would have been 
spared me.” 

The duke himself summoned Count Cyril and 
communicated the princess’s wish to him in a low 
tone. 

Cyril bowed in evident surprise. His face wore 


Her Little Highness, 


239 


a strange look of secret misery. Rafaela hastily 
whispered something to her lady-in-waiting, and the 
latter’s cavalier, a command which did not seem to 
delight Miss Lola. It was so gay and amusing here. 
vShe only skated for the sake of the men. What did 
she care for the lonely, tiresome canal ? With a 
pout she held out her hand to her escort and fol- 
lowed the princess. 

Rafaela had turned to Cyril. 

“ Are you willing to inspect the park, count ?” she 
asked, without looking at him. 

“ Your highness’s wish is always a command to 
me,” he replied hastily, and then his hands clasp 
hers. His face is very pale, the pressure of his 
fingers convulsive. He holds her close to his side, 
and they glide away as though in a dream. She 
has never been so near to him before. He feels 
how her cool little hands grow warm in his. A 
crack in the ice, a little unevenness, sends her slen- 
der figure even nearer to him. Is it the perfume 
of the roses that makes his head whirl ? 

Why, why this torment? Why may he not clasp 
her once in his arms, although in a short time he 
must relinquish her to another ? Why is the world 
so narrow and small? Why can he not rush on 
with her thus forever ? His heart burns. All the 
torment of hopeless passion glows in his dark eyes. 

There is a faint cry behind them. Both start and 
pause. Baroness Lola is on her knees ; her escort 
tries in alarm to raise her. 

“ For heaven’s sake, dearest, have you hurt your- 
self ?” cries the princess. 


240 


Her Little Highness, 


The court lady rises with many sighs of pain : 

“Oh, my foot ? Your highness, I fear I have in- 
jured it,” says she. 

“ How unfortunate ! And we are so far from the 
i-lake. Go and order a sleigh, Mr. von Laden. We 
will stay with the poor patient.” 

“A thousand thanks, your highness !” says Lola, 
with a mournful smile. “ I think I can move, 
slowly though, very slowly. If your highness 
would only permit me to return.” 

A shadow crosses Rafaela’s face. 

“Whatapity ! Just now, when it is so lovely here.” 

“ Good gracious ! Your bigness can go on, of 
course.” 

“ Alone?” says the princess, hesitatingly. 

An ironical smile crosses the baroness’s suffering 
countenance. 

“ Count Lankwitz, the knight without fear and 
without reproach, bears, as the angel of innocence, 
a flaming sword beside you, your highness. What 
could happen?” 

The princess compresses her lips. 

“ You are, right, baroness. Thank fortune. Count 
Cyril, even alone, is protection enough for me. Mr. 
von Laden, take the patient back.” 

“ Pardon, your highness, a thousand pardons.” 

Rafaela has turned away. She looks at Cyril, and 
smilingly holds out her hands again. 

“ Come, count,” says she, softly, and they glide 
on over the smooth ice. 

“Your highness,” he says, “what a proud, de- 
lightful testimony you gave me.” 


Her Little Highness, 


241 


She turns her head and looks at him with shin- 
ing eyes. 

“ It is my conviction,” says she, simply. 

He tries to speak. The blood rushes to his head 
and robs him of his breath. Suddenly he raises her 
hand and presses it to his lips. 

All is silence ! Around them is the deep, sol- 
emn peace of a snowy forest. The glittering 
branches often bend so low over the ice that the 
count must raise them over the princess’s head. 
How the branches shine, when an occasional sun- 
beam pierces the forest, and snowflakes fly through 
the air when a frightened crow starts up with a 
hoarse caw. 

The world seems so far away, and the two human 
beings fancy they have wings and can fly on, hand 
in hand, each with no thoughts save for the other. 
They are far from the lake ; how far they do not 
know. 

Suddenly a faltering, a start. Almost unconsciously 
Cyril throws his arm around the slender figure to 
support it, and for a second Rafaela rests on his 
breast. All is deathly still; only the two hearts 
beat wildly. Then she draws back with crimson 
cheeks. 

“ My skate !” says she, softly. 

Already he has knelt before her, and she lays her 
hand on his shoulder to steady herself. 

“ The clamp !” he murmurs in alarm. “ The 
clamp is broken.” 

She kicks away the skate. 

“ What now !” says she, drawing a deep breath. 


Her Little Highness. 


'l\2 


“ Now the return will be much slower than oui 
coming, your highness. We must walk.” 

“ Please take off my other skate.” 

He does it, but his fingers are very awkward 
when he holds her little foot in his hand, and it is 
a slow process. 

“ It will be best for you to remove your skates, 
too, count, or else we will be too unequal walkers.” 

‘‘ Yes, your highness.” 

They chat as before, but their voices seem breath- 
less, embarrassed. 

^‘‘Well, then, now to return, proud Cid,” laughs 
she. 

She glides a few steps on the smooth ice, then 
gives a faint cry, and clings, tottering, to his arm. 

“ It is fearfully slippery ; you must hold me up, 
count.” 

He draws her hand through his arm, but he has 
the greatest difficulty in keeping his own footing, 
and they can only advance very slowly. 

This will not do !” cries Rafaela, anxiously. ‘‘ See 
how dark it is growing ; we will not get home be- 
fore nightfall. Can we not walk better on the 
bank ?” 

“ The snow is very deep, and there is no sign of 
a path close to the bank. And your highness would 
not venture to pierce the thicket and go to the road, 
I suppose ?” 

“ If you are with me I can try,” she said, with a 
laugh. It was meant to sound unconstrained, but 
her voice trembles. 

Again his brow flushes, but he, too, laughs. 


Her Little Highness, 


243 


Let me break through, your highness,” says he, 
and hastily turns to the bank. 

He breaks the brances apart, and then cries : 

“Come close behind me, I will be your shield.” 

No, it is impossible to get through. They sink 
up to their knees in the snow, the bushes are closely 
grown together and frozen. Panting and flushed 
with the exertion, they take a few steps, then the 
princess leans exhausted against a tree. 

“ I cannot go on, count,” she whispers with pale 
cheeks, “and it is growing dark, so very, very 
quickly.” 

For a moment Cyril pauses and stares at her. She 
looks exhausted. 

“ No, we cannot go on thus. We must return.” 

He hesitates a moment, then asks : 

“ May I carry you, your highness ?” 

She nods and stretches out her arms like a tired, 
helpless child. He raises her, she trembles, he 
feels it and compresses his lips as though he feared 
to betray himself with a word, and hastily he fights 
his way back to the canal. 

“ I will put on my skates again and carry you, 
then we will get home soonest,” said he. 

She only nods. Her little head sinks on his 
shoulder, and the snow falling from the trees covers 
it for a moment as with a bridal veil. 

When they reach the canal, twilight is already 
far advanced. Gray shadows rest on the silent for- 
est, and where the branches hang down over the 
ice it is dark. 

In a few minutes Cyril has on his skates, but 


244 


Her Little Highness, 


Rafaela has sunk down on a fallen tree, and closed 
her eyes as though in a dream. 

“ Are you anxious, your highness ?” he asks, 
gently, bending down close to her. 

Then she looks up at him and smiles, such a 
strange, sweet smile, that the questioner’s heart 
almost ceases to beat. 

“ No,” says she. “ I am only tired, and your 
strong, faithful arms will take pity on my fatigue.” 

He silently holds out his arms to raise her slight 
figure once more, and again his face wears the look 
of inward torture, and Rafaela notices it. 

“ Why do you suddenly look so gloomy?” 

He avoids her eyes. 

‘‘ You call my arms strong and faithful, princess, 
and you trust them. What greater happiness could 
I know ! And what greater misery could there be 
than the fear that you might lose this happy belief 
in my fidelity !” 

“ What a strange idea ! Such a time will never 
come.” 

His brows contracted gloomily, fairly threaten- 
ingly. 

“ No, it shall not come, and yet if it does come — 
my eyes shall not see it.” 

She leaned her head back so that he must look in 
her smiling face. 

“ Your eyes must not gaze at such gloomy, fantas- 
tical future scenes, but at the bright, lovely present. 
There behind the trees the moon is rising, and the 
quiet world around us is mysteriously beautiful. To 
be sure, the ghostly charger is lacking, upon which 


Her Little Highness, 


245 


Salger, the Norse hero, once bore a sleeping prin- 
cess in his arms, but instead you have steel wings, 
so that you may bear me home as quickly as he. 
Courage, my brave knight, let the saga of young 
Salger prove true.” 

In truth, he seems to have wings. 

Like a dream, the uncanny, dark forest glides past 
them, the first pale, silvery moonbeams lie on the ice, 
and from the distant city comes the chime of bells. 

Cyril’s head is feverish ; quickly, ever more 
quickly he glides on, and yet he knows that each 
step brings him nearer his goal ; that each step robs 
him of his happiness, and tears his love, who now 
rests on his breast, pitilessly from his arms. 

How long will it be before the bells are hushed, 
and the happiest hour of his life is over! But as 
yet she is his. No, the time shall never come when 
Rafaela will’ doubt him. Never ! Why should he 
worry ? The unhappy secret of “ Madam Potiphar ” 
lies safely buried in a secret drawer of his writing- 
desk ; to-day the leaves of the manuscript shall fall 
in ashes, and then the secret will be safe forever. 

Hark ! There are voices, and lights flash along 
the canal. They are looking for them. Involun- 
tarily Cyril starts. Now it is over. 

'^Lackeys with torches,” he murmurs, and he 
leans his head back and gazes into her eyes as 
though he was taking leave of her forever. Then 
he lets the princess slide gently down to the ground. 
She clasps both his hand once more. 

“ I thank you. I thank you with all my heart,” 
says she, softly. 


246 


Her Little Highness, 


He kisses her hand, then offers his arm respect- 
fully. Slowly, step by step, they advance to meet 
those looking for them. 

Young Salger kissed his princess and took her as 
his own for a reward of his fidelity ; but Count 
Cyril’s steel wings will never carry him over the 
abyss which separates him from his princess. 

Duke Henry’s voice rang out from the distance, 
and it seemed to Cyril that a faint sigh from Ra-- 
faela’s lips answered it. 




CHAPTER XXIL 

A sensational bit of news greeted the princess 
and her escort. As explanation why they, had not 
sooner become alarmed at the princess’s long ab- 
sence, the duke related the following : 

When her lady-in-waiting returned to the lake 
^^^ith a sprained ankle she had seated herself in a 
sleigh, and in order to forget her accident had car- 
ried on an animated conversation with different 
gentlemen. This being watched disapprovingly by 
the duke, his rather sharp remarks made Lola think 
it advisable to return to Sophienhof as an invalid. 
Her unexpectedly early return had proved a bless- 
ing. 

Availing themselves of the absence of the prin- 
cess, her court and most of the servants, several bold 
fellows had broken into the castle from the lonely 
park side. 

Their aim had been the princess’s jewel safe in 
her dressing-room, but passant they had 
broken open and apparently robbed Count Lank- 
witz’s writing-desk, while valuables had been taken 
from other rooms. 

Rafaela’s jewel safe showed signs of rough work, 
but its excellent construction had resisted the 

[247]' 


248 


Little Highness, 


thieves’ efforts. Great excitement had prevailed at 
the announcement of this news. All had flocked to 
Sophienhof, even the duke himself, that he might 
be present at the police investigation. Thus the 
princess’s unusually long absence had not been no- 
ticed until the excitement had somewhat abated, 
and the late dinner hour arrived. 

Cyril’s face had turned deathly pale at his sover- 
eign’s words. 

“ My writing-desk broken open and robbed ?” he 
stammered, scarcely able to speak. 

“ Unfortunately, my dear count. I hope you had 
no very large sum of money and valuables in it ?” 

The count stared absently at the torches, then 
asked suddenly : 

“ May I humbly beg you to excuse me, your high- 
ness?” 

“ Certainly, certainly, hurry, my dear count. Per- 
haps you will be fortunate enough to find some 
secret compartment undisturbed.” 

The duke held out his hand graciously, and Ra- 
faela, too, offered hers, with a few gentle words of 
sympathy, but the news .seemed to have quite over- 
come the count. He fairly started back from the 
princess as though in despair. A short, hurried 
bow, and he rushed away as though pursued by de- 
mons. 

The two court carriages stood ready at the lake 
side. Cyril sprang into one breathlessly. 

Quick, drive quickly !” he gasped. 

A police officer met him on the steps of Sophien- 
hof, and wished to communicate something to him, 


Her Little Highness. 249 


but without listening to him, with staring gaze, and 
distorted countenance, Cyril pushed him aside, and 
rushed down the corridor. 

His room was lighted. The heavy, old, carved 
secretary was pushed out from the wall. The lock 
was picked, the drawers pulled out and their con- 
tents overhauled, while the boards were removed 
from the back, leaving the desk a mere skeleton. 

A hollow cry of dismay ! Cyril totters nearer, 
and runs his hand under the lid, then a wild laugh 
of despair comes from his lips, and he falls heavily 
to the ground. 

The manuscript of “ Madam Potiphar ” has been 
stolen. 

Hasty steps approach, the policeman on guard 
rushes in in alarm, and raises the unconscious man 
in his strong arms. He calls for the valet, tries to 
ring the bell, whe;i Cyril opens his eyes again. 

He glances in confused question at the strange 
face, then his consciousness quickly returns. 

“ Hush, hush !” he groans. “ For God’s sake, be 
silent.” 

He rises suddenly, and throws himself into an 
armchair, pressing his ice-cold hands to his tem- 
ples. 

“ Good heavens ! You have certainly met with 
heavy losses, count!” says the official, compassion- 
ately. “ But do not excite' yourself prematurely. 
Our people are already on the track of the thieves.” 

The prince’s tutor stares at him hopelessly. 

“Yes, a heavy loss,” he murmurs dully. “ Now 
all is over,” 


250 


Her Little Highness. 


“ The count will certainly receive the things 
again." 

Cyril only shakes his head in silence. For a 
second there is no sound. Only the papers scattered 
on the carpet rustle softly as the official withdraws 
a few steps. 

Suddenly the young count raises his head, and 
holds out his hand. 

“ I thank you for your friendly assistance. The 
excitement of the moment made me weak. Now I 
am quite myself again, and should like to be alone." 

The man withdraws, closing Ihe door behind him. 

The lamp burns dimly. All is still, deathly still, 
save for the ticking of a clock, like the weary heart- 
beats of a dying man. 

Cyril sits motionless. 

Yes, now all is over. To-day he has been in Par- 
adise. And since there can be no happiness on 
earth for the man who loves Princess Rafaela, and 
who wrote “ Madam Potiphar," it would be well for 
the poor tormented mortal to leave this earth. What 
has he to live for ? To suffer torments of dread that 
his unhappy secret will be discovered ? Never to 
be free from this terrible uncertainty, and finally to 
stand in Rafaela’s sight as the man who has caused 
her the greatest pain she has ever known. 

No, he cannot bear her anger, scorn and disfavor 
after to-day. Better die ! 

“ Die — die !" ticks the clock. 

His head is confused and hot. A high, gray wall 
seems to rise before him. 

With trembling hand he fetches paper and ink. 


Her Little Highness. 


251 


Sheets and envelopes lie scattered around. He 
writes to Princess Rafaela a last brief note of part- 
ing, a wild cry of despairing love, which has driven 
itself to its own death. He sealed the envelope and 
laid it on the table. Then he took his pistol-case 
from the mantel. The litte weapon and expensive 
present from the duke is loaded. Cyril takes it in 
his trembling hand. His fingers are colder than 
the steel. 

With a convulsive sigh he raises the deadly 
weapon. 

At that moment a hand seizes his and draws it 
forcibly down. 

“ Coward !” thunders a voice. “ Have you for- 
gotten your God, your conscience and your honor?” 

Cyril starts. His head sinks heavily on his breast. 
The voice is his father’s. The captain draws , the 
pistol from his hand and throws it back in its case. 
Then he lays his hand heavily on his son’s 
shoulder. 

“ Cyril !” 

Then the young man raises his ghastly face and 
stares at him with glassy eyes. 

“ What right have you to disgrace the honorable 
name of your ancestors? Have you committed a 
dishonorable deed, the disgrace of which can be 
wiped out only by blood ?” 

“ Dishonorable ? Dishonorable ?” murmurs Cyril, 
as though in a dream. “ No, it was not dishonora- 
ble.” 

“ So much the worse, if a man will become a sin- 
ner against himself and his family for the sake of a 


252 


Her Little Highness, 


trifle. Justify yourself ! What has forced a pistol 
into your hand ?” 

Cyril buries his face in his hand with a groan. 

“ You gave me life, father, but you have no right 
to force it upon me when it has become unbearable.” 

Cyprian pushes a chair close to his son’s side. 

‘‘ That is a matter for discussion.” He seizes one 
of the ice-cold hands and clasps it tightly in his. 
“ You are ill, boy,” he says softly and gently. “ Tell 
me what ails you that I may cure you.” 

Cyril’s head sinks down on his father’s shoulder. 

“ You will learn, father, sooner than you will care 
to know,” he murmurs. 

The captain glances around the room. 

“ You have been robbed ?” 

A nod. 

“Your fortune is safely deposited. It can only 
be some private document?” 

Cyril shudders, and again nods in silence. 

“ Confide in me, Cyril.” 

Then he starts up, his eyes rolling madly. 

“ I am the author of ‘ Madam Potiphar !’ ” he cries 
hoarsely. “And the manuscript has been stolen 
from me.” 

The captain also starts. 

“You? You the author of ' Madam Potiphar’?” 
he repeats incredulously. 

Cyril laughs cuttingly. 

“ This possibility has never occurred to you, has 
it ?” he cries bitterly. 

“ Why not ! You are clever and intellectual, and 
never could endure Rafaela — ” 


Her Little Highness. 253 


“ ‘ Never could endure her ! ’ Oh, my God !” 

The captain suddenly gazes piercingly at his son’s 
distorted countenance. A sudden comprehension 
flashes across him. 

“ At least not formerly — ” he continues, with em- 
phasis, “ but now — ” 

“ Do not speak it !” 

“ But now you love her !” 

Again a half-delirious laugh. 

“ Yes, I love her, I love her ! And in a few hours 
perhaps she will know that I once condemned her 
before all the world, and she will repulse me with 
horror. Do you now understand that I can and 
must live no longer ?” 

Cyprian calmly leaned back in his chair. 

“ No, not at all !” said he, shaking his head in his 
old, careless way. “ Rafaela is a woman, and no 
woman is unpropitiable, especially when she her- 
self loves.” 

Cyril started. 

You do not believe that she will pardon the son 
for the father’s sake ?” he murmurs bitterly. 

‘‘ For my sake?” Valleral laughs. “ Oh, dear in- 
nocent ! What have I to do with the princess?” 

“ You love each other, and you will marry her.” 

“We do not think of it. The father is tolerated 
for the son’s sake. But as one never knows with 
Rafaela, whether her apparent feelings come from 
her heart, I will not encourage your all too bold 
hopes; for the present, more important matters 
must be attended to. Cyril, you wrote ‘ Madam 
Potiphar !’ This is a capital discovery. The devil, 


254 


Her Little Highness. 


yes !” and the captain sprang up excitedly, and 
paced the room several times. Suddenly he paused 
beside Cyril. “ Do you really believe that the manu- 
script will be recovered from the thieves ?” 

“ Yes. I have always been marked for misfor- 
tune.’’ 

“ Is your full name given on it as the author?” 

Cyril passed his hand over his brow, as though 
obliged to collect his thoughts by force. Then he 
shook his head. 

“ No, only my initials, C. L. — But the writing 
would betray me.” 

The captain suddenly rubbed his hands as though 
greatly pleased, and laid his arm around his son’s 
shoulders with sparkling eyes. 

“ Boy, I have a brilliant idea!” he cried. 

Cyril stared at him dully. 

“We both are as unlike as fire and water,” laughed 
Cyprian, “except our handwritings, which are as 
like as two peas. The initials of both of us are 
‘ C. L.,’ ergo, if it suits you, my boy, calmly push 
the child of your intellect, ‘ Madam Potiphar,’ into 
my nest, and it will give me great pleasure to pro- 
claim myself the author.” 

“ Father !” came from the young man’s lips. His 
dull eyes brightened, a hot flush rose to his pale 
face, as he caught at this hope as a drowning man 
seizes a plank. “ Father — you would — would do 
that?” 

“ Will I do it ? Ha, ha ! To-day the manuscript 
in my pocket, to-morrow Aunt Claudine’s millions 
mine I I will be more practical than you, you fan- 


Her Little Highness, 


255 


tastic mortal ! Good heavens ! The boy lets a mil- 
lion -dollar inheritance lie in his writing-desk and 
did not excavate the treasure ! Besides, it will be 
a colossal joke for me to have written such a clever 
book. I the author of ^ Madam Potiphar !’ I actually 
begin to respect myself,’' and Valleral was now 
quite his old self, sprang up, went to the mirror, 
and proudly twisted his mustache. 

Cyril had clasped his hands. His frame shook 
with excitement. 

“ It would save me from her scorn, her re- 
proaches. But you, father, do you not fear the dis- 
pleasure of the duke and the princess 

“ Not in the least. I will get out of the affair 
finely. I care only for the favor of my little Mignon. 
Heavens, what eyes, when I move into Castle Bah- 
renberg as co-owner !” and Valleral flung himself 
into his chair with the gayest of laughs, and threw 
his arm around his son. “ You are a fine fellow, 
my boy. And you, foolish fellow, would destroy 
yourself because you have written one of the best 
books ever printed.” 

The young man leaned heavily against his father. 
His head and hands, so icy cold a moment before, 
now glowed with fever, and his temples throbbed. 

“ And the duke — and Rafaela will not lay up 
against me the fact that my father wrote ‘ Madam 
Potiphar’.?” he murmured, with a deep sigh. 

“ Not a bit of it, my boy. Let me see to that !” 

A deep breath of relief, then he whispers : 

“ Now I must pick her up in my arms— it grows 
more and more dark — the moon is rising — There, 


256 


Her Little Higlmess, 


there — very quickly — Good heavens ! the abyss ! — 
We will fall — do not leave me, Rafaela — I shall 
perish without you — Hark, how they call — all the 
lights dance around me — and the stars fall and bury 
me beneath their splendor — ” 

Alarmed, Cyprian bent forward and stared in his 
son’s face. He is delirious. 

Hastily his father lays him back against the soft 
cushions and rushes to the bell. 

“ Fetch a doctor at once !” he says to the servant. 

A detective appears on the threshold. His face 
beams with joy. 

“ We have them, count,” he says ; “ and here the 
chief of police sends the chamberlain’s box. It is 
already opened. The thieves probably suspected 
valuable papers, but they are apparently only legal 
documents.” 

Cyprian seized the metal box hastily. 

“ Excellent ! A thousand thanks, my good fellow. 
Have the police been informed of the contents ?” 

“As far as I know the things have been looked 
over, count.” 

“ So ! A thousand thanks meanwhile. As soon 
as possible I will come and arrange everything per- 
sonally.” 

The door closes softly. Cyprian goes to the light 
and casts a hasty glance in the box. It contains the 
manuscript of “Madam Potiphar.” 

Count Cyril Lankwitz lies ill with a nervous 
fever, and, at his father’s wish, is removed to a 
private hospital. The captain remains with the 
patient iintil his life is no longer in danger. 


Her Little Highness. 


257 


Daily, Princess Rafaela stops with her little son 
at the entrance, to inquire for the count in person. 
He recovers slowly. The physicians think pos- 
sibly the seeds of the disease have been sown by 
years of continual nervous excitement, which 
needed but some slight cause to burst forth. 

The curtains are drawn tightly, and Cyril lies in 
a death-like slumber, little dreaming that at that 
moment his father’s carriage rolls up to the ducal 
palace, and that the hour is at hand when Madam 
Potiphar ” is to be called from oblivion for the last 
time. 




CHAPTER XXIIL 

Count Cyprian Lankwitz stood before his sover- 
eign. 

His handsome face wore a look of unmistakable 
amusement as he bowed deeply, and said : 

“ Your highness is rightly informed. The manu- 
script of ‘ Madam Potiphar ’ was discovered by the 
police lieutenant, and the gentleman only did his 
duty in announcing this surprising find, just as 
the police were commissioned to discover the 
author.’’ 

The duke gazed at the speaker in amazement. 

“ You — you knew where the manuscript was 
found, my dear count ?” 

A faultless bow. 

'‘Yes, your bigness. In my son’s writing-desk.” 

“ Incredible ! Count Cyril can not possibly be 
the author. At most, possibly his confidant .” 

“ Will your highness permit me to speak quite 
freely ? I think it beneath my dignity to give my ' 
sovereign false impressions, although I pledged my- 
self to them to save my son’s life.” 

[258] 1 


Her Little Highness. 


259 


The duke seated himself, with a wave of his hand 
toward the chair at his side. 

I shall know how to appreciate this frankness, 
my dear count,” said he, without a trace of angry 
excitement. 

“ There was a time, your highness will remember, 
when Cyril was the target for all disfavor and many 
unjust caprices on the part of her highness, the 
princess. Upon an indifferent heart, these con- 
tinual vexations would make a deep and lasting im- 
pression ; how much more upon Cyril’s, for he — par- 
don my frankness, your highness — had from child- 
hood felt a deep, passionate love for the charming 
little princess. Cyril is one of those unhappy na- 
tures who are too reserved to let the world see their in- 
ward conflicts. But where unbridled passions must 
rage themselves out in solitude, they overshoot 
moderation, and make the wildest mistakes. The 
poor boy hated his own father, as a favored rival, 
and ‘ Madam Potiphar ’ is the wild outburst of 
mingled love, hatred and wild jealousy, which for 
years had tortured the young heart. I am con- 
vinced that Cyril absolutely could not estimate 
the effect of his act. In blind passion, he in 
tended merely to open, with ‘ Madam Potiphar,’ a 
gulf between the princess and me, and I think I 
may assure you, on my word of honor, that Cyril 
has suffered most from the evil this unhappy book 
has caused.” 

“ He has proved this by his faithful, self-sacrific- 
ing efforts to atone for his fault to Rafaela.” The 
duke rose, and his grave face wore a look of kind 


26 o Her Little Highness, 


sympathy. '‘So it was Cyril! Cyril!” he mur- 
mured. “ Poor young man ! In his despair he hurt 
himself. ‘ Evil the book has caused,’ my dear count ?” 
The duke paused before Cyprian and looked him in 
the eyes. “ One confidence deserves another. The 
evil is small in comparison with the blessing it has 
wrought. The book accomplished that for which 
we had all vainly striven, and taught the young, 
inexperienced princess the lesson that it is not suf- 
ficient to have a clear conscience, but that it is neces- 
sary to avoid everything that may give the world 
opportunity to judge one falsely. Rafaela cast our 
admonitions to the wind, and, in childish defiance, 
quarreled with us, when I tried to bring her to 
reason. So she could not wonder if public opinion 
became her preceptor. A princess upon whom 
thousands of eyes are fixed must be doubly cau- 
tious. Men judge only from outward appearances. 
That Rafaela has never gone too far, that the slight- 
est shadow never fell upon her honor and dignity, 
you yourself know best, count. Still, in ‘ Madam 
Potiphar ’ was to be read only what passed from 
mouth to mouth. Appearances were against her, 
and she had to feel, since she would not hear. And 
what an extraordinary effect the book has had upon 
her, we remark each day with delight. It brought 
about a crisis in Rafaela’s character. She has be- 
come a lovely, .prudent, thoughtful woman. The 
remedy was severe but the only one which could 
avail. Although your son may have exaggerated, 
and seen things too blackly, my dear count, you 
have given me, as an excuse for him, a glimpse of 


Her Little Highness. 


261 


his mental condition, which could but excite pity in 
any tolerant man. And now we will bury the whole 
matter. Cyril is very ill ; the consciousness that he 
is forgiven shall make him recover. As to the 
princess, I wish that the author’s name should for 
the present remain unknown to her. Cyril has 
atoned. He has a most beneficial influence upon 
the young prince and his mother, which I should 
not like to disturb. Let the past be forgotten.” 

The duke held out his hand heartily, and deeply 
moved, Cyprian bent and kissed it. Then he looked 
his sovereign frankly in the face. 

“ For your highness’s great kindness in wishing 
to spare my son in the princess’s sight, I cannot 
thank your highness sufficiently, for the princess’s 
anger and scorn would drive Cyril to his death. 
But it would be impossible to keep the* secret of 
' Madam Potiphar,’ for unfortunately premature 
zeal has already circulated reports in thb news- 
papers, and besides, I believe that some good can 
be derived from this surprising discovery — ” 

The duke suddenly laughed aloud. 

‘‘ Ah, the Bahrenberg inheritance !” 

That is not to be undervalued either, your high- 
ness, especially for a poor devil like me, whose 
funds are permanently low !” 

“ For you ? What have you to do with it ?” 

“ Will your highness have the kindness to hear 
me once more ? On the evening of the burglary I 
sought Cyril, and found him in a state of absolute 
despair. In fear and anxiety, and to keep the irre- 
sponsible fellow from killing himself, as he was 


262 


Her Little Highness, 


about to do, I promised him, in case of discovery, 
to proclaim myself the author of the book. Our sim- 
ilar handwriting and initials would insure success.” 

Again the duke laughed. This time with good- 
natured mockery. 

You the author of ‘ Madam Potiphar ’ ? Who 
would believe that, my dear captain ?” 

Cyprian laughed too. 

“ There are misjudged geniuses, your highness, 
and I have always hidden my light under a bushel,” 
said he, with self-irony. 

But is it not absolutely incredible that the 
favorite of a ' Madam Potiphar ’ could write such a 
book about himself and the lady of his heart?” 

Pardon. I think this very fact gives me an 
opportunity to make good my son’s wronging of 
the heroine of this book.” 

I do not understand you.” 

A man who is secretly an author may be also 
secretly an intriguer. What could better establish 
the purity of a woman than the fact that he whom, 
with childish thoughtlessness, she singled out for 
distinction, writes a book that he may free her, 
through its compromising contents, to give him her 
hand? This new light upon the subject will make 
a sensation, and as I know that ‘ Madam Potiphar ’ 
deserves to be completely justified in the eyes of 
the world, I think it a chivalrous duty to receive 
in my own breast all the arrows which were for- 
merly directed at her. If her highness, the prin- 
cess, has suffered on my account, it is but righ t 
that I should suffer for her glorification.” 


Her Little Highness. 


263 


“ That is very noble, my dear count, and it would 
sincerely please me if society should now weave a 
martyr’s wreath for Rafaela. She deserves it. And 
your reward? Well, Baroness Bahrenberg’s estate 
will perhaps recompense you for your sacrifice. I 
should prefer that the whole affair be suppressed, 
or do you really think that impossible ?” 

“ Really, your highness, I do. The manuscript 
of ‘ Madam Potiphar ’ was not returned to me en- 
tire. The most important pages are missing, and 
are probably the booty of some dishonorable specu- 
lator. The thieves scattered some of the pages in 
the park, thinking them valueless papers. The re- 
turning people may have found them, and recog- 
nized their value. The words ‘Madam Potiphar’ 
stood out all too plainly. Already anonymous, 
blackmailing letters have been sent to mine and my 
son’s address.” 

“ Ah — incredible !” 

“ As these have remained ineffectual, revenge 
will surely flee to foreign newspapers, to publish 
the discovery of the secret, for the knowledge of 
our handwriting proves that the parts of the manu- 
script are in the hands of some refined person 
familiar with it.” 

“ Your official acknowledgment of the author- 
ship would then best stop all further proceedings, 
and as I see myself, your generosity would settle 
the affair best in all particulars.” 

Thus over night Valleral became the author of 
“ Madam Potiphar,” and as soon as Cyril’s health 
permitted, he set out at once for the little provincial 


264 


Her Little Highness. 


town near the Bahrenberg estate to take possession 
of the old lady’s fortune. 

It was as he had thought. Again the civilized 
world was wildly excited. Many declared they had 
long suspected Cyprian’s intrigue, others were 
amazed ; the former horrified, the latter amused at 
that madcap Valleral’s “ clever trick.” But all 
agreed that the poor princess had shared the lot of 
many another woman, who, in her carlessness, does 
not realize that the world loves to blacken and 
vilify prominent characters. 

Rafaela’s life and manner of late had proved 
sufficiently how falsely she had been judged, and 
the whole affair gave wide opportunity to catch a 
glimpse of the heart of a poor child of royalty, who 
has been a martyr to her people. Many who had 
criticised the young princess most sharply, now 
bowed their heads in shame ; and many malicious 
tongues now silently found excuses for a wife who 
was given to an unloved husband in earliest youth, 
was kept away from her child, by the tyranny of her 
advisers, and in eighteen-year-old vivacity, sought to 
forget her empty life in pleasures. People could 
not weary of giving the princess new proofs of 
their love and admiration, and never had she been 
more truly the darling of the whole land. 

As Valleral had always been fortunate, so was he 
now. No cavalier had ever been so popular and 
such a favorite as Count Lankwitz, and now the 
Bahrenberg inheritance made him doubly attract- 
ive. What foolishness, then, to drive such a good 
parti from the capital. Had not the captain been 


Her Little Highness, 265 


most graciously pardoned by tbe duke ? Did not 
Princess Rafaela continue to drive to tbe hospital 
and inquire with sincere interest as to the young 
count’s health ? If the royal family set such an ex- 
ample of mildness and forgiveness, was society jus- 
tified in cutting a man with whom it was not angry ? 
Therefore, to let the whole affair be suppressed as 
quickly as possible, and act, upon the captain’s re- 
turn, as though nothing had happened, would be 
wisest. Besides, several other sensational occur- 
rences had set all tongues wagging just then, and 
gradually crowded this other theme into the back- 
ground. 

****** 

In a most satisfied frame of mind Count Cyprian 
arrived in the little town which, as yet, had no sus- 
picion that the Baroness Bahrenberg’s long-awaited 
heir at last knocked at its gates. 

The lawyers passed a highly interesting morning. 
And when the captain had established his identity 
beyond all doubt, partly by the manuscript, partly 
by letters from the publisher, the matter was very 
easily and simply arranged, and no objection was 
made to the count’s occupying the half of Castle 
Bahrenberg now belonging to him, until all formal- 
ities were complied with, and he was thoroughly 
established in his rights as heir. 

It was a rainy .spring afternoon when Count Cy- 
prian, his valet Moulin and a lawyer drove out, in 
the only landau in the town, to Castle Bahrenberg. 

The count wished to arrive as unnoticed as possi- 
ble. He stopped the carriage at the open park gate. 


266 


Her Little Highness, 


ordered Moulin to go on to the castle with the lug- 
gage, and let the lawyer unseal the door, while he 
walked through the park. 

Cyprian hurried on over the soft, mossy path. 
Before him rose the castle turrets and gables behind 
the leafless trees, and at one side sparkled a little 
lake — surely the one at which, years before, his 
friend Florence’s fate had been decided. 

Hark ! Were those voices or birds ? No, some one 
laughs quite near him. That is Mignon’s laugh. 
And now a man’s voice ! 

Thick evergreens screen the path. Valleral draws 
nearer, unheard and unseen. An ideal little resting- 
place beside the lake, surrounded by old willows. 
The count cautiously pushes the branches aside. 
Only a few steps from him stands Mignon. She has 
a little basket on her arm, and is cutting pussy 
willows, while a young man gallantly bends the 
branches down. Who is he ? The conversation seems 
very important, for Mignon’s face is crimson, and 
she vainly tries to draw her hand from the speaker’s, 
who clasps it tightly together with the twigs. 

“Mignon!” he cries, with an unmistakably for- 
eign accent. “ I have seen your picture, and it has 
brought me here across the sea, from the distant 
north. What are my studies in Upsala to me ? I 
will study you and your heart, you beautiful, fasci- 
nating woman I” 

He speaks like an actor, with great pathos and 
many gestures. 

“ But my dear cousin, what nonsense !” laughs the 
young girl, half confused, half flattered. “ How can 


Her Little Highness, 


267 


you speak so to a mere girl ? I assure you, in tlie 
capital they do not consider me anything remark- 
able." 

He strikes his chest dramatically. 

“Because your German fatherland is pedantic. 
Because the women are jealous and the men blind. 
What do you lack to be fitted for the most prom- 
inent position? You are grown; you are intel- 
lectual ; you are beautiful. Who counts your years 
and wishes to force you back to the nursery is a 
fool !" 

Mignon bites her rosy lips ; her eyes flash. 

• “ Oh, if you knew, Sven, how I have been in- 
sulted !’’she says, with set teeth. 

“Insulted! You?" The young man tosses back 
his yellow mane wildly. “ I will avenge you. I 
will fight for you. No queen has ever had a more 
faithful knight. I will break your chains, and will 
show your enemy that there is still one man who 
places you above all other women," and he noisily 
struck his stiffly starched shirt front. “ But give 
me the right, Mignon. Betroth yourself to me." 

She drew back in alarm. 

“ Oh, you are jesting !" she stammered. 

“Jesting!" he said reproachfully. “Unhappy 
girl, how can you thus trample my holiest feelings 
in the dust! When a man gives a woman his heart 
and love, in such a sacred hour, all jest is far from 
him." 

“ Yes, yes. So it should be," said Mignon, frown- 
ing. 

“ I mean truly. I am in earnest with my suit, for 


268 


Her Little Highness. 


it makes you my whole life. No other woman ex- 
ists for me but you, my goddess. And whoever, in 
such a moment, thinks and acts otherwise does not 
love you !” 

A deep sigh. The young girl clasps her hands 
convulsively. “ No. He does not love me,” she 
murmurs. 

“ This is very pretty,” thinks Cyprian. “ The 
devil ! If the fellow tries to kiss her I will attack 
him with my umbrella.” 

But the young lover is at present too rhetorical 
for kisses. He draws a little ring from his pocket 
and puts it on his cousin’s finger. 

I make you my betrothed,” says he, glancing at 
the sky, “ for higher powers have destined us for 
each other. Here in the castle dwells a beneficent, 
protecting spirit, who shall guard this ring.” 

“ And if he does not guard it, but loses it from 
my finger?” says Mignon, irresolutely. 

“ Then it is a decree of fate to which I bow,” says 
Sven, condescendingly. “ As long as no super- 
natural power separates us, I fear no earthly one. 
And now come to my arms.” 

She draws away from him, and shakes her head 
energetically. 

“ My parents and the protecting spirit have not 
yet given their consent,” says she, with flaming 
cheeks. “ And although I believe that you love me 
as sacredly and truly as I desire, yet, Sven, I claim 
a short time to determine my own feelings.” 

“You. wear my ring on your finger, beloved,” 
cries he, passionately. “ Swear to me that you will 


Her Little Highness, 


269 


not remove it ! Higher powers have united our 
hearts and hands ; only higher powers may release 
them.” 

She has quickly turned away ; he follows her, de- 
claiming until his voice dies away in the distance. 

“This is a pleasant discovery!” thinks Valleral, 
meditatively smoothing his blonde mustache. “ I 
begin to fear this boy, Sven. The rascal has taken 
just the tone Mignon requires, as suitable to love- 
making. And the cousin is handsome, although his 
sanctimonious air makes me detest him. It is all 
put on. But wait, I am on the spot now, and I, too, 
will call upon the beneficent spirits of Bahrenberg 
to show more favor to an honest fellow than to you, 
you sneak I” 

The Ohly entrace of the castle lay to the north, 
that of the new heir to the south ; and there was not 
a soul in sight, except the valet, as the count ap- 
proached. 

“A dreadful castle, count,” said he, anxiously. 
“We are absolutely alone.” 

“ For to-day ; to-morrow it shall be different. 
Come, you French rabbit-heart, we will inspect our 
enchanted castle I” 

It is a strange feeling, to enter perfectly un- 
familiar rooms with the consciousness that they be- 
long to us. Every nook and corner is interest- 
ing. 

Slowly, almost reverently, Cyprian wandered from 
room to room, in which, a comparatively short time 
before, his unknown patroness had lived and 
breathed. All was just as Claudine had left it, and 


Her Little Highness. 


270 


it seemed as though a mysterious whispering broke 
the deep stillness, as though invisible powers re- 
joiced that Cyprian, the only one Claudine had ever 
loved, should enter her home as heir. 

How much that is interesting these cupboards and 
drawers contain ! Valleral almost regrets that there 
is no woman here to revel in the treasures of house- 
hold linen. In the writing-desk, the sealing wax 
and seal used by the dead woman for her last will 
still lies. Undestroyed old letters, receipts and 
newspaper cuttings are neatly arranged in the com- 
partments, and a never-finished letter to the head 
of some charitable institution is in the portfolio. 

And here the bedroom, all untouched, just as the 
dead woman left it. On a little table stands the 
half-full medicine bottle, a silver spoon in a glass 
beside it. A prayer-book lay on the floor, and here, 
where the coffin had stood, are faded flowers and 
leaves, with wax from the candles which had lighted 
up the peaceful face of the poor sufferer. 

Deep sadness overcomes Cyprian. He seats him- 
self in an armchair, and tries to recall the dead 
woman, as he had known her. He has but a vague 
memory of her. He sees only the large, awkward, 
stooping, girlish figure, poor Claudine Bahrenburg, 
whom he had once at dancing school thought so 
very homely. Here, surrounded by her things, the 
homely face seems encircled by a halo, beautified 
and idealized, and the good-hearted Cyprian thinks : 
“ No one understood you, poor Claudine ; no one 
found the way to you, to bring life, happiness and 
peace to you in your solitude. I come too late. I 


Her Little Highness. 


271 


almost envy Cyril, that you became so fond of him 
through his book.” 

Poor Claudine ! Those days in the dancing-school, 
you never suspected that some day a man, who then 
had no eyes or ears for you, long years afterward, 
would sit in your death-chamber and mourn you 
sincerely ! 



CHAPTER XXIV. 

Never had Cyprian seen more astonished faces 
than those of the Ohly family, when he appeared 
before them on the veranda. 

Florence cried out as though she had seen a 
ghost, and Mignon turned pale ; but in this moment, 
Valleral read the whole truth in her eyes, and this 
gave him back all his gay confidence. 

The news that he had appeared before the court 
as the author of “ Madam Potiphar,” and had been 
acknowledged as Claudine’s heir, occasioned a per- 
fect torrent of words from Florence. Her fresh, 
round face showed only too well what a pleasant 
triumph Cyprian’s appearance was, and probably 
never was a man received so graciously by a lady 
whom he has deprived of half her fortune, as was 
the captain by Baroness Ohly, who hospitably 
offered to entertain him until his part of the castle 
should be made comfortable. 

Florence welcomed him indeed, for the solitude 
of a country life had become unbearable, and Mign- 
on, too, had fancied it more amusing than it 
proved. So, although she tried to be very cold at 
[272] 


Hei'' Little Highness, 


273 


first, she became more and more animated the 
longer the captain sat at the tea-table, and laughed 
and jested. 

Only Cousin Sven, a relative of Baron Ohl}^ 
grew more and more monosyllabic and out of tem- 
per and saw, with increasing displeasure, that even 
his relative and confederate fell more and more 
under Cyprian’s charm. 

Finally he complained that the “ all too great 
levity ” had made his head ache, and begged leave 
to retire. He held Mignon’s hand with a long 
pressure, rolled his eyes tragically and kissed the 
little ring on her finger. 

“ May the protecting spirit of the house be with 
us !” said he, pathetically, bowed stiffly and left the 
room. 

The young man is probably a divinity student !” 
said Cyprian, pleasantly. 

Florence laughed aloud, while Mignon flushed 
vexedly. 

“ Divinity student ! You are right, my dear count. 
Now I know of what his rhetorical tone often re- 
minds me, although many of our charming young 
theologians would be very vexed at this comparison.” 

“ I do not -know why, mamma,” said Mignon, in- 
dignantly, “if a man is grave and too noble and 
sensible to be perpetually' joking, he should serve 
as a fitting subject for mockery.” 

“ So, in your opinion, jolly people are not noble 
and sensible. Miss Mignon?” said Cyprian. 

“ At least one does not believe them capable of true 
feeling.” 


274 


Her Little Highness, 


“ That is a very hard judgment. I hope the time 
will come when you will change your opinion, for I 
am one of the j oiliest of men, and sincerely wish 
that you should judge me rightly.’' 

“ Well, my dear count, if you often surprise us as 
you have to-day, you will make that a difficult task. 
Lankwitz, the author of ‘ Madam Potiphar !’ ” and 
Florence clasped her fat little hands. “ Who would 
have thought it !” 

Cyprian smiled. 

“ Yes, sooner or later the light burns a hole 
through the bushel.” 

And you concealed your misanthropy so success- 
fully. No, never would I have thought you such a 
bitter pessimist. Such a moralist — ” 

“You see, a man’s jollity may deceive, and may 
conceal the gravest, most pious nature.” 

Mignon listened attentively. 

“ Why do you mingle with the gay world if you 
despise it so ?” she asked scornfully. 

“ Because one must try and test before one judges.” 

“ But I think it cowardly to do so anonymously,” 
said the girl, defiantly. “ It was not chivalrous.” 

“ But effective. You see, no one believed me the 
author of the book. People think me incapable of 
grave, deep feelings, because I am merry, and do 
not wear my most sacred emotions on my sleeve. I 
cannot find words like your cousin’s, but I should 
not be in the least surprised if Mr. Sven von Giillen- 
strom proved to be the author of the most flippant 
French novel. Appearances are deceitful. Miss 
Mignon.” 


Her Little Highness, 


275 


“ Outrageous ! He does not think of such a thing,” 
said Mignon, indignantly, although she suddenly 
looked very thoughtful. 

“ Sven write books ! Heaven forbid that I should 
have to read them !” cried the baroness. “ I think 
him capable of much, but not that !” 

“ And why not?” said her daughter, piqued. 

“ Because it must be fearfully hard, eh, my dear 
count ?” 

Cyprian nodded absently, his eyes fixed on the 
ring on Mignon ’s finger. 

“ H-m, I should think it must be very hard.” 

“You should think ? You must know.” 

“ Oh, yes, quite right. I mean as a rule. To sit 
still and scratch a pen over the paper until the book 
is written — dreadful !” 

“You will write no more ?” 

“ I ? Heaven forbid ! I swear to you, baroness, 
not another line !” 

“ Strange ! With your great gifts ! Then it 
would have been better had Claudine made another 
will.” 

“ Better for you or for me?” said he, teasingly. 

“ For us both,” was the frank and laconic answer. 

Mignon remained silent, and Cyprian soon took 
leave. 

It was very amusing to have Count Cyprian in Bah- 
renberg, however obstinately Mignon held aloof. 
Her mother was all the more gracious, and it became 
very tiresome to the young girl to sit behind the 
window, listening to Sven’s reproachful, jealous he- 
roics, while Florence promenaded on the terrace 


276 


Her Little Highness. 


with the captain, and her laughter showed how well 
she was entertained. 

Cyprian made no efforts to win her over. Mignon 
thought she had probably offended him too deeply, 
but just because she loved him so dearly, she had 
not wished to be treated like a baby by him, and 
her pride had rebelled at the thought of being 
merely a plaything. 

Why was he so indifferent? If she could but 
arouse his jealousy by coquetting -with Sven, but, 
strangely enough, since Cyprian’s arrival, the north- 
erner seems very tiresome ; and, most of all, he 
makes not the slightest impression upon her mother 
and the count, for they do not hesitate to ridicule 
him. 

The ring weighs on her finger, and yet, with girl- 
ish sentimentality, she feels obliged to wear it, un- 
til higher powers break the chains imposed upon 
her by Sven’s declaration of love. 

So some days pass, and the more unhappy Mignon 
feels, the merrier becomes Cyprian. 

One night he has the strangest dream, so strange 
that, in recalling it, the next morning, he forgets to 
ring for Moulin. 

He dreamed that he stood downstairs in his din- 
ing-room, staring at a magnificently carved cup- 
board, which was built into the wall near the side- 
board. 

He saw the door of this cupboard open, and a 
small white hand beckon to him from it. When, in 
his delight at actually seeing a ghost, he hurried 
nearer and opened this cupboard, he saw the boards 


Her Little Highness. 


277 


at the back part, and a wonderful treasure of silver 
and gold lay before his eyes. When, in surprise, he 
reached out for it he awoke. 

What could this dream mean ? Had Claudine 
possibly hidden treasure in this cupboard, and had 
no time to write down this secret? Was there 
some secret drawer or compartment in this 
cupboard, containing some important, valuable 
things ? 

In any case, the count will investigate. The box 
of tools which Moulin had borrowed of an Ohly 
servant to repair a window still stands in the cor- 
ridor. He therefore hurries into his clothes that he 
may set about this investigation. 

Cyprian and his valet were invited to take all 
meals in the northern half of the castle, but the 
valet always, as was his custom, prepared the count’s 
morning cup of tea ; and this stood in readiness 
when the count entered the dining-room. His first 
glance was for the cupboard. There was nothing 
remarkable in its appearance ; nor did Cyprian, 
strain his eyes as he might, perceive any white, 
beckoning hand. While he drank his tea he studied 
this cupboard, or rather cupboards, for there were 
two of them — one on each side of the . large side- 
board, the doors handsomely carved. 

The one at the right is doubtless the one. The 
eount can scarcely wait to send Moulin away on 
some reasonable pretext. Finally he goes. It is 
raining, and the large room is quite dark, hence an 
excellent ghostly setting, and the wind, too, howls 
down the chimney. 


278 


Her Little Highness. 


Cyprian opens the cupboard, and the door turns 
heavily on its hinges. 

Empty ! Absolutely empty ! Even the shelves 
are removed and stand against one side. A few- 
old newspapers lie on the floor. The captain 
knocks on the wall at the back. Aha, hollow ! 
Here and here also the whole space back of the 
cupboard seems to be a niche. The deuce ! The 
affair grows interesting. If only the cupboard were 
not so deep. The treasure-seeker has to kneel in 
to feel the wall at the back. 

It is made of oak planks, quite loosely put to- 
gether. It will be sufficient for the present to 
remove one. It is not much trouble. The whole 
business, probably, works by some mechanism, but 
as Cyprian is not acquainted with it, he simply 
takes a hammer and draws out the two large nails. 
Bravo ! The plank falls forward and gives one 
quite a place to look through. Cyprian strikes a 
match, but in his amazement at the sight which 
meets his eyes, he burns his fingers. The match 
has revealed something most unexpected. A quan- 
tity of the handsomest silverware ! Is he still 
dreaming? Can it really be possible ? He hesitates 
a moment, then puts his hand through the opening. 

His fingers do indeed touch silverware. Here a 
pitcher, a goblet, another pitcher — a bowl — 

But hark, a sound ! A rattling and creaking ! 
Then the captain’s blood turns cold ; a cool, little 
hand touches his. He reaches out quickly, and 
holds the soft, little spirit hand of his dream fast. 
But a piercing scream rings out from the depth 


Her Little Highness, 


279 


of the wall, so uncanny and horrible that Cyprian 
involuntarily releases the twitching, struggling 
hand. That is too much. He starts back, and 
hastily restores the board to its place. Then he 
leaves the cupboard and gazes confusedly around 
him. ' For the first time in his life, his heart is in 
his throat. 

It is horrible to reach into a niche in the wall and 
clap a hand and then the scream ! 

But, good heavens, what is this ? What has he in 
his hand ? A ring ? Has he taken a ring from the 
spirit’s hand ? The marvels increase. 

He goes to the window and stares down at the 
ring, then rubs his forehead and pinches his ears to 
convince himself that he is awake, for he must be 
dreaming. It is Mignon’s ring, the ring with the 
blue stone that her cousin Sven had placed on her 
hand. 

What does this mean ? How can so many impos- 
sibilities be accounted for ? 

Hark ! What murmuring cries and calls ! It all 
comes faintly from the wall. 

Cyprian returns to the cupboard and listens. 
Suddenly his face grows crimson, he rushes into 
another room, and throwing himself on a sofa, 
laughs uncontrollably. Now for the first time it 
occurs to him that both halves of Castle Bahrenberg 
are exactly alike to the very smallest detail, and 
that he has done nothing less than break into the 
Ohly silver closet. 

It is delicious ! Mignon had evidently heard the 
knocking, had opened the closet to investigate. 


28 o 


Her Little Highness. 


boldly stretched out her hand, and had been clutched 
by a cold, dreadful, ghostly hand. 

Her cry of terror still rings through the dining- 
room. She is half fainting from fright. Her par- 
ents, Sven and the servants assemble before the 
terrible cupboard, and Cyprian presses his handker- 
chief to his lips, and returns to his post of eaves- 
dropping. 

“ It is nonsense, Mignon. Imagination !” says the 
baron. ‘‘ How could there be ghosts here in broad 
daylight ?” 

“ You knocked your hand against a glass dish,” 
says his wife, soothingly. 

“ No, no, it was a hand. See the red marks here 
where it held me fast ! Ah — my ring !” 

“Your ring?” 

“ It is gone !” 

“ When you rose from the breakfast-table to go 
to the closet, I saw it on your finger.” 

“Certainly, it was on my hand. O heavens, the 
ghost has robbed me of my ring !” Strangely 
enough, Mignon ’s voice suddenly sounds quite dif- 
ferent ; it trembles as though with joy. 

“ Absurd ! I hope no sensible people will be de- 
ceived by such a trick,” says Sven’s voice, crossty. 

“ Trick? I forbid such an expression.” 

“ Mignon, Mignon, do not be so violent,” says the 
baron, and Sven orders a light to be brought, and 
the closet to be explored. 

“ I really believe, my dear Sven, that you doubt 
Mignon’s word.” Florence, too, seems piqued. 

“ How could one expect a grown woman to relate 


Her Little Highness. 


281 


such nonsense ! I believe neither in ghostly hands 
nor ghosts themselves.” 

Oh, indeed ! And yet you placed your happi- 
ness under the protection of our beneficent house- 
hold spirit?” says Mignon, angrily. “ If anything 
unusual happens to a ‘ grown woman ’ she can ex- 
pect that one will not doubt her word like that of a 
lying school-child.” 

A light shines through the cracks of wood. 

“ Have the kindness to look yourself, cousin.” 

“Take out the silver.” 

“ There is nothing to be seen. No trace of a 
ring.” 

“ Look on the carpet. Look all over the room.” 

There is much hurrying to and fro. In vain ! 
The baroness sends the servants to search the terrace. 

“ It is lost trouble. I saw the ring on Mignon ’s 
finger a moment ago,” says Sven, rudely and an- 
grily. In his vexation he seems quite to forget him- 
self. “ If a ring is to disappear, one must look in 
dress pockets. Little girls have at times strange 
ideas of duty and fidelity.” 

“ Outrageous, to insult my poor, nervous, half-sick 
child thus !” 

“ Oh, mamma, it is dreadful !” Mignon, sobbing, 
seems to throw herself into her mother’s arms. 

“ What do you mean, Sven ? I beg you to explain 
your words.” 

“ What do I mean ? Simply this : Miss Mignon 
changes lovers as she does dresses. And as she 
is tired of me, she plans, a fine spirit scene to get rid 
of an objectionable ring.” 


282 


Her Little Highness. 


Shame on you !” 

A count with an inheritance of millions is cer- 
tainly a more desirable suitor — ” 

“Yes, a thousand times more desirable, and far 
more agreeable to me, as well as to my daughter, 
than a furious, brutal, inconsiderate Sven von Giil- 
lenstrom.” 

“Children, children, for Heaven’s sake be calm!” 
cried the baron, piteously. 

“ No, papa, let mamma speak. It will be a bless- 
ing to have the matter settled. I will not be insulted 
and called a liar. I forbid any one to treat me like 
a schoolgirl.” 

‘^But, darling, Sven is jealous. That excuses 
everything, and you love him,” says the baron. 

A short, passionate laugh. 

“ Love him ? No, thank God, I do not love him 
and never have loved him.” 

“ Oh, delightful ! You hear, dear uncle. She has 
only coquetted with me to spur on the count, that 
she may reject him a second time.” 

“ Reject him ? Are you vSo sure ?” cried Florence, 
with scornful triumph. “ You have learned the dif- 
ference now, have you not, darling, between a man 
who kisses a girl because he is passionately in love 
with her, and one who coarsely insults her with dis- 
trust and roughness.” 

“ Oh, mamma !” 

Again loud sobs, but Sven says, cuttingly : 

“ May I ask for a carriage to take me to the rail- 
way station, uncle ?” 

Cyprian presses his hands to his temples. Yes, 


Her Little Highness. 


28 


a beneficent spirt certainly watches over this house. 
His eyes sparkle as they rest on the little ring in 
his hand. Dame Fortune has been on his side 
again. Now he will go to Mignon. 

The Ohly family receive the captain with great 
excitement, and hastily tell him the inexplicable 
occurrence. 

“ Do you believe in such ghosts, count ? I implore 
you ; tell me frankly, do you believe that a hand 
could really seize Mignon ’s here in this closed cup- 
board, and draw a ring from her finger?” 

Cyprian controlled himself excellently. He 
looked very grave and thoughtful. 

“To speak frankly, baroness, perhaps I should 
doubt the story if I heard it from any one’s lips but 
those of Mignon. But as your daughter relates it 
as a fact, there can exist no doubt in my mind, as 
my belief in Miss Mignon is such that her words 
are as reliable, to me, as the oath of a man.” 

The girl’s eyes flash delight, love and gratitude. 
Those are different words from Sven’s. The count 
is taken to the cupboard, and all the details related 
to him. He seems deeply interested, tells of strange 
occurrences in Castle Neudeck, and lets himself be 
convinced by the ladies that inexplicable things do 
occur. He is horrified at Sven’s conduct, and the 
latter’s way of treating Mignon as a school-girl 
fairly enrages him. 

Mignon’s eyes grow more and more bright, her 
flushed cheeks must encourage him to think that it 
needs but a word from him, and she would come to 
his arms, but he is silent. 



CHAPTER XXV. 

Princess Hermine is an infrequent guest, as well 
in the palace as in Sophienhof, and therefore, the 
lackeys in the latter were not a little surprised, 
when her tall figure suddenly appeared at the en- 
trance, and asked if the Princess Rafaela were at 
home. 

Upon being answered in the affirmative, she de- 
clared her intention of waiting upon her niece un- 
announced. 

Rafaela sat at her writing desk, her head thought- 
fully resting in one little hand ; before her lay a 
newspaper, and her face wore a deeply pained look. 
When the portitres parted she looked up. 

“ Oh, Aunt Hermine ! Dear, good aunt ! How 
kind of you to visit me !” 

After embracing her tenderly, the princess loos- 
ened her wraps, and seated herself on a divan be- 
side Rafaela. Her sharp eyes fell upon the writing 
desk. 

“ You have already read the latest news of 
the attack planned upon your heart?” she asks, 
quickly. “ I came here for that reason. I have 
[284] 


Her Little Highness. 


285 


spoken with neither you nor Henry for a long time, 
and should like to know, darling, how correct this 
article is. Do they really wish to marry you to 
Prince Archibald? How has this come about so 
suddenly?” 

Rafaela sighed deeply, and wrung her hands as 
though in despair. 

“ Oh, Aunt Hermine, what unfortunate beings we 
princesses are, that the politics, wishes and desires 
of the country may hound us to death. Have I not 
already made the terrible sacrifice of giving myself 
to an unloved husband, that I might satisfy my 
people, and give them an heir to the throne ? Now 
Carl Henry lives. Now I have borne a crown prince, 
and yet public opinion again demands a royal mar- 
riage of me.” 

“ The succession to the throne depends upon one 
life only, my poor child. You know how easily a 
young life is endangered, and how, in one night, 
the brightest hopes may be blighted. The book, 
‘ Madam Potiphar,’ has made the people anxious, 
because your wish to marry Cyprian Lankwitz all 
too plainly is exposed in it — ” 

“ But, dearest aunt, now when the riddle is solved 
— when it is learned that Cyprian himself wrote that 
book — ” 

The princess smiled so peculiarly that Rafaela 
paused in surprise and stared at her questioningly. 

“ Ah ! Is it really then proved, directly proved, 
that the captain wrote the book ?” 

Rafaela changed color in alarm. 

“ Unquestionably ! The handwriting of the 


286 


Her Little Highness, 


manuscript — his initials on the title-page/’ she 
stammered. 

“And are those proofs?” The princess drew 
several written pages from her pocket and unfolded 
them. “You are, as I hear from Henry, perfectly 
indifferent to Cyprian, so my communication will 
be interesting, not exciting to you,” and Hermine 
glanced searchingly at her niece’s colorless face. 
“You say the count’s initials, ‘ C. L.,’ but those 
may also mean Cyril Lankwitz,” and the speaker 
glanced at the picture which lay where Rafaela, in 
her haste, had left it, on the writing-desk. 

“ Cyril ?” cried the young princess. “ Incredible ! 
Impossible ! Why would Cyril write such a book ?” 

With slightly trembling hands. Princess Hermine 
unfolded several pages, manuscript fragments of 
“ Madam Potiphar,” and several letters. 

“ Here are letters of the father, here those of the 
son. At a superficial glance both handwritings are 
strikingly similar, but whoever has studied as many 
different handwritings as I have has a sharp eye 
for little differences. Here, look at this curve in 
the ^ G,’ and here in the ‘ R ’ and in the ' V.’ They are 
exactly like Cyril’s, but not like Cyprian’s writing.” 

Rafaela pressed her hands to her temples, and 
stared at the writing. Her face flushed crimson, 
her breath came quickly, and yet her eyes seemed 
to grow bright. 

“ Oh, Aunt Hermine, if you were right !” she 
murmured. 

“The captain is a gay, charming society man,” 
continued Hermine, hastily, “ but he is not the man 


Her Little Highness, 


287 


to write such a clever, satirical book. The thought 
that I had been mistaken in him made me investi- 
gate the matter. Cyprian never wrote 'Madam 
Potiphar.’ The author is Count Cyril.” 

" Is Cyril !” 

“ Remember the time when this book appeared, 
Rafaela. At that time the young man was not your 
friend, but the reverse, your declared enemy, with 
whom you were in constant warfare. That book is 
Cyril’s belief, his pessimistic, intolerant views. It 
was the overflow of years of unnaturally suppressed 
passion. In blind zeal he threw a stone, not sus- 
pecting how far it would roll.” 

" And you say that. Aunt Hermine ? You accuse 
Cyril Lankwitz, your protege and favorite?” 

" Accuse ? I have never understood why the au- 
thor hid his identity behind a pseudonym. The 
book is not malicious or slanderous. It is a general, 
although too severe, criticism, like that of some 
fanatical clergyman. That it was felt here that you 
were described in the heroine, was due to the di- 
vided state of society then. Your enemies indis- 
creetly fancied they had found the kernel in the 
shell, and declared that all the characters were 
drawn from life. The clever book became a scan- 
dalous pamphlet. I do nqt accuse Cyril, but I 
find one thing to blame in him : that he continued 
in the society of a woman concerning whom 
his conscience must have troubled him, and yet 
lacked courage to bear the consequences of his act. 
And on account of this weakness I warn you, Ra- 
faela, do not trust him too much. Perhaps he may 


288 Her Little Highnes$. 


prove unworthy of this confidence. A man who is 
too cowardly to acknowledge his actions will never 
be a reliable friend and adviser. You know now, 
my dear child, what Cyril Lankwitz is, and I hope 
your eyes may read him plainly. And now, let me 
see little Carl Henry. I have a little Easter present 
for him. Let me go alone. I see you were busy 
here. Let all that we have said be our secret, and do 
not be angry with me for speaking so plainly, for 
I mean kindly by you.” 

The princess folded the papers and put them in 
her pocket again. Then she took Rafaela’s pale 
face between her hands and kissed it. 

Rafaela was alone. 

Tears rushed to her eyes, and a feeling of despair 
overcame her. She had just been so happy, and 
now was so sad. That Cyril Lankwitz was the 
author of “ Madam Potiphar,” realized her secret 
dream of longing. For years she had known no 
more passionate desire than to meet the man who 
for the first time in her life had told her the truth, 
had roughly pulled her back from the false path 
upon which she had been wandering, and had been 
the cause of such true happiness to her. He had 
caused her the deepest and most unjust misery she 
had ever experienced. But when her first flush of 
indignation had subsided, and she read the book 
a second and a third time, the unknown author be- 
gan to impress her. She felt the truth of what 
he said, and as, later, she realized what a benefit 
this book had been to her, she longed more and 
more to know the man who had so changed her life. 



WHAT SHK WIIISPKKEI) TO HKK TlIKKE HEMAINHI) A SECRET,— «S'C« J‘age 297 


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Her Little Highness, 


And more and more did she connect the gloomy, 
misanthropical Cyril with this unknown. But grad- 
ually this idea became more vague, and Cyril’s per- 
sonality exercised its strange charm over her, for 
the very reason that it was so unlike her own. 

When Cyprian Lankwitz proclaimed himself the 
author, a feeling of disappointment had come 
over her. He was not the man she had expected to 
find in the author of such a book. Her heart rejoiced 
at Princess Hermine’s discovery, yes, he alone could 
be the pitiless but beneficial reformer of her nature. 
But why must this hateful shadow fall upon her 
ideal ? Why had the proud, upright Cyril been so 
cowardly as to let his father take the responsibility, 
instead of boldly acknowledging the truth ? 

This petty fear of the consequences of his deed 
degraded him. 

In bitter pain, Rafaela buries her face in her 
hands. Now that her ideal is proved faulty, she 
realizes for the first time how she loves him. 

There are steps in the next room, a lackey enters 
and announces that Count Lankwitz urgently begs 
her highness for an interview. 

“ Which Lankwitz ?” 

“ Count Cyril, your highness.” 

For a moment Rafaela grasps the back of a chair 
to steady herself, then drawing a deep breath, she 
says : 

“ I will receive him in the Murillo room.” 

She passes her handkerchief over her face ; she 
is once more alone, as though to remove all traces 
of the last hour. Her heart cries out at the thought 


290 


Her Little Highness, 


that he comes to deceive her, but he shall not see 
the pain this will cause her. 

Slowly, with bowed head, she goes to meet him ; 
and when she sees him for the first time since his 
illness, she starts violently. 

The long weeks during which he was at death’s 
door have left their traces on his face. But he is 
not only pale and ill, he looks wretchedly unhappy. 

“ Count Lankwitz ! Good heavens, why did you 
venture to drive here to-day?” says she, in alarm. 
“ The doctors were not willing that you should go 
out for another week.” 

“ I could bear it no longer your highness. I had 
to beg for this audience,” he fairly gasped out, rest- 
ing his hand on a small table. 

Rafaela quickly motioned him to a chair. 

“ Sit down, first of all. Climbing the stairs has 
over-fatigued you. It was very foolish to rush so 
much to-day.” 

He sinks down in the chair like a broken-down 
old man, and gloomily stares before him. 

It was urgent, your highness, if my impatience 
and excitement were not to torture me to death. 
Remember that I have not seen you since — since 
the name of the author of ' Madam Potiphar ’ was 
in every one’s mouth.” 

The princess had seated herself opposite him. 

You have surely learned that the duke as well 
as I pardon your father,” says she, softly. 

He raised his head abruptly. 

‘‘One has nothing to forgive an innocent man, 
your highness, but doubly and trebly him who 


Her Little Highness. 


291 


ascribes his fault to another, and tries to adorn him- 
self with a false halo.” 

Rafaela trembled, but gazed at him with wide, 
open eyes. 

“ I do not understand,” said she, faintly. 

He seemed to fight a last, despairing struggle with 
himself. Then he raised his head and gazed into 
her eyes. His sunken cheeks flushed, and his lips 
quivered. 

“ Let me shorten this hour of torment, your high- 
ness. Let me begin my confession at the end,” he 
cried excitedly. “ I lied in cowardly accepting my 
father’s offer to announce himself as the author of 
the most unfortunate of books. Not he but I wrote 
‘ Madam Potiphar,’ your highness, and may God and 
you forgive me.” His head sank on his breast, and 
he continued precipitately : “I was already ill and 
irresponsible when my father took pity on me in 
my despair, and took the blame upon himself. I 
had not strength to acknowledge the truth before it 
was too late. I lay on my sick-bed and groaned in 
agony. My pride rebelled against the unworthj^ 
rSle I must now play before the world and in my 
own eyes, and if ever a man was tortured with 
shame and remore it was I. No one is proof against 
temptation, but I had no time to resist. I do not 
beg forgiveness, your highness, for I do not deserve 
it. I only wish to be true, for I cannot appear a liar 
in your sight. I cannot. The horrible hour when 
my heart was weaker than my conscience seems 
like a dream to me. I trembled like a coward at 
thought of the hour when you would turn with 


2g2 


Her Little Highness. 


hatred from the author of ‘ Madam Potiphar.’ I 
could die, but not lose your favor, your highness. I 
could not bear the thought, but still less can I bear 
to stand before you a liar. I know what this hour 
means for me,” he continued dully. “ I will go, for 
I no longer deserve my position in this house. I 
have no right to ask forgiveness, but I know that 
noble hearts condone crimes that are sincerely re- 
pented.” He paused, without glancing at her. 

She had listened in silence, not interrupting him 
by a sound, but her sweet face shone. 

“ Your crime ! Did you really — hate me so that 
you could write a book like ‘ Madam Potiphar’?” 

He started at her voice and stared at her like one 
in a dream. And what he read in her eyes made 
the blood rush to his head and heart. A kind of 
madness came over him. 

“ Hate !” he laughed shrilly. “ No, I was not 
fortunate enough to hate the woman who poisoned 
my existence. Oh, then, all would have been well.” 
He paused abruptly. Then continued passionately : 
“It is probably the last time I shall stand before 
your highness. I have been frank. I will be so to 
the end. Why did I write the most unfortunate of 
books? Not because I hated you, your highness, 
but loved you — loved you to madness. I suffered 
all the torments of jealousy. My heart cried out 
for vengeance and means of separating you from 
my father seemed right. I did not consider, but 
acted. And when my manuscript was in the hands 
of the Frenchmen I was the helpless tool of their 
speculation. The result was far beyond my expec- 


Her Little Highness, 


293 


tations. I despised myself, but my passion tri- 
umphed. He paused, out of breath, and sank back 
in his chair, his eyes fixed despairingly upon her. 

Rafaela buried her face in her handkerchief, and 
sobbed softly. Her dark curls fell over her crimson 
forehead. 

“ So it was with me until the hour when you wept, 
Rafaela, wept as now,” he continued, in a trembling 
voice, until your words to Duke Henry, which I 
overheard in the next room, opened my eyes. Then 
I realized how bitterly I had wronged you. The 
sky seemed to fall. No words can describe what I 
suffered then. Henceforth I knew but one duty — 
to heal the wounds I had inflicted. My own work 
became my tormentor, and the fear of discovery, 
the angel with the fiery sword, who drove me from 
the Paradise, where rest and peace awaited me — until 
to-day — Now it is all over.” His voice died away. 

“Cyril!” 

A soft, trembling cry of happiness. In over- 
powering emotion Rafaela stretched out both 
hands to him. He stared into her eyes as though 
it vrere some incomprehensible, sweet wonder. Then 
he sank down before her, and silently pressed his 
face against her hands. His form shook, and his 
lips burned on her white fingers. He tried to speak, 
but could not. 

“ Cyril 1” she whispered again and again, “ Cyril !” 

There was a slight noise behind them. Both 
started up and gazed at Princess Hermine’s pale, 
excited face. 

“ I come from Carl Henry,” she whispered, her 


294 


Her Little Highness. 


voice choked with tears. “ Two hours ago the child 
was taken very ill.” 

Rafaela sprang up with a cry of alarm. 

“ Impossible ! I was with him the whole morn- 
ing !” she cried, confusedly. 

“ The fever came on very suddenly, and from its 
intensity seems to forbode some serious illness.” 

Rafaela’s face turned deathly pale. She looked 
neither to the right nor the left, but rushed to her 
child. Everything seemed to dance before Cyril’s 
eyes. His hands grasped a chair-back, but Princess 
Hermine laid her cool hands on them. 

“ I came at the right time, my poor young friend. 
Do you not know that one may long for the stars 
in Heaven, but can never attain them ? The suc- 
cession to the throne depends upon Carl Henry’s 
delicate young life, which may be a prey to death 
in a few hours. Rafaela cannot marry for love. 
Count Cyril, alas, she cannot. If you are a true 
friend of your prince’s house, a brave son of your 
fatherland, be strong. Let your duty be stronger 
than your love, and leave the capital.” 

For a moment Cyril stared at her in a daze. Then 
he stooped and kissed the princess’s hand. 

“ I know what I owe to my sovereign and father- 
land, your highness,” said he dully, “ and will make 
the greatest sacrifice a human heart can' make. I 
go, your highness.” 

“God bless you, my poor, brave friend.” 

His steps die away, and the room into which the 
sun had just been shining, lay dark and deserted 
as the grave of happiness 



CHAPTER XXVI. 

Princess Hermine went at once to the palace, and 
seeking her nephew, she told him what she had 
seen and heard. 

Her face was very sad as she finished, and she 
sighed. 

Heaven knows whether I have done rightly in 
separating the two poor young things,” said she. 
“ It was very hard for me, for seldom have I felt 
that two young people, despite their unlikeness, 
were so suited to each other as Rafaela and Cyril. 
But I was brought up with strict ideas of the duty 
of a princess. I followed a sudden impulse when I 
acted, Henry ; but I come here to place the definite 
decision in your hands. You can decide as you think 
best. I have done my duty.” 

Duke Henry had listened with the deepest in- 
terest. His face shone with pleasure, he arose and 
paced the room. When . the speaker paused, he 
stopped before her. 

“ I thank you. Aunt Hermine, thank you with all 
my heart,” said he, hastily. “ You have acted per- 
fectly right, for as matters appeared to you, it was 

[295] 


296 


Her Little Highness. 


of the utmost importance that Rafaela should make 
a royal marriage, but that is no longer necessary,” 
and' stooping over Princess Hermine, he whispered 
a few words in her ear. 

“ Henry ! Good heavens, is it possible ?” 

He nodded, his voice suffocated with excitement. 

‘'Yes, Aunt Hermine, it is the truth. Seek 
Renee, and tell her joy has made me talkative. 
Tell her the reasons. I will at once go to the hos- 
pital, and make sure of that irresponsible hothead, 
Cyril. His mood promises the rashest acts, and he 
must and shall live for my poor little sister. Ra- 
faela has suffered enough. Oh, Aunt Hermine, I 
shall always think of the hour when I saw the poor 
child stand at Carl Gustav’s side, before the altar. 
I seemed the executioner of her happiness, and 
prayed that an hour might come when I could give 
back to Rafaela what I took from her that day. 
This hour has now come, and although it was a hard 
path these two had to travel before they found each 
other, I believe every step has been a foundation 
stone for their true happiness.” 

Duke Henry drove at once to the hospital, and 
alighted in person to speak with young Count Lank- 
witz. The head nurse was inconsolable. Against 
her strict orders, the count had left his^room and 
driven to Sophienhof. The exertion had naturally 
been too great, and a half-hour before, the count 
had returned, only to have a relapse. He was de- 
lirious again, and the nurse was putting him to bed. 

The duke seemed very anxious. He recom- 
mended the patient to their especial care, and with 


Her Little Highness. 297 


unusual excitement, impressed upon the nurse never 
to leave him alone for an instant. Then he hurried 
back to his carriage, and drove to Sophienhof, to 
inquire for Carl Henry. 

He found Rafaela at the little prince’s bedside. 
The child breathed more regularly, although still 
feverish, and was asleep. Rafaela, too, slept in the 
armchair at his side. Her face was pale, her eyes 
red from weeping, and her head had fallen forward 
on her breast, like a broken lily. 

Deeply moved, the duke withdrew. 

In a few days the little prince was quite himself 
again, but Count Cyril suffered greatly from his 
relapse, and it was late in the spring when the 
duke could summon him to a private audience. 

Princess Rafaela had shut herself up in Sophienhof 
from all the world. Her brother smiled and made 
no objections, that the surprise he had in store for 
her might be the more complete and delightful. 
His wife and aunt were also sworn to secrecy. 

Thus, while Count Cyril stood before his duke 
and heard such sweet, incomprehensible news that 
he fancied heaven had opened before him. Duchess 
Renee drove to Sophienhof and surprised her 
charming sister-in-law in the orange-garden. 

Rafaela hastily pressed her handkerchief to her 
eyes to dry a few traitorons drops, and her mourn- 
ful face contrasted strangely with the duchess’s 
radiant look, as she drew the young princess tenderly 
down on the marble bench beside her. What she 
whispered to her there in the garden remained a 
secret to all others save the orange blossoms for 


298 


Her Little Highness, 


some time, but Rafaela’s half suppressed cry of joy 
rang out in the May air. 

The princess sat there as though under a spell, 
after Renee had left her. She leaned her head 
back and closed her eyes as though in a happy 
dream, a very vision of loveliness in her white 
gown. 

The gravel crunched, and Rafaela started up. 
Duke Henry approached, smiling, leading Codnt 
Cyril by the hand, and said roguishly to his sister : 

“ See, darling, here is a poor invalid, whom no 
mere medicine can cure, for the disease is too deeply 
rooted in his heart. You are so clever, and have 
such skillful little hands, perhaps you may know a 
remedy.” 

What he said neither of the two noticed or heard. 
They stood and gazed into each other’s eyes in 
speechless rapture. 

Then they were alone, and the orange blossoms 
strewed their white petals upon them. Hand clasped 
hand, lips meet lips, and they belong to each other 
for all eternity. 

* * * * * 

The surprising news of Cyril’s betrothal was tele- 
graphed to Bahrenberg, and Baroness Ohly gave 
her husband a most meaning . glance. Even the 
baron, who had rather opposed Valleral as a son-in- 
law, felt that further opposition would be foolish, 
especially since Sven’s retreat. 

Cyprian’s trunks were packed, for he must return 
to the capital at once, to tender his congratulations. 
Mignon’s rosy face was somewhat paler than usual. 


Her Little Highness. 


299 


as she sat at breakfast near the gay, talkative cap- 
tain. And she soon rose from the table and hurried 
down the steps of the terrace into the park, which 
was in all the blossoming splendor of spring. 

Cyprian exchanged a few words with the baroness, 
then rose also, and slowly followed her in the bright 
sunshine. 

He found her at some distance, sitting on a little 
bench, where blooming hawthorn boughs bent 
down over her. Softly he advanced. Her golden 
braids hung down her back. He seized them, and 
teasingly pulled them. 

She started up and stared at him. Then the tears 
fell faster down her cheeks. 

“ Mignon, my horses are waiting. I must go.'’ 

She held her hand out to him with averted face. 

“ Good-by !” she sobbed. 

“ Are you still angry with me, Mignon ?” 

She silently shook her blonde head. 

“ Have you forgiven me all ?” 

She nodded. 

“ Even the kiss?” 

At first she hesitated, then made an indefinable 
movement which might mean yes or no. But Val- 
leral took it as yes. 

“ Excellent ! Then all is finely settled. Now be 
sensible, little mouse, and. look at me.” 

Such disrespectful language was unheard of. In- 
voluntarily she glanced up into his gay, laughing 
face, and before she realized it he kissed her again. 

She is so breathless with fright that she cannot 
speak. Then he draws her to his breast, gazes 


300 


Her Little Highness. 


merrily into her eyes and asks, without a trace of 
solemnity : 

‘‘ Little one, will you really not be my dear little 
love ? I cannot declaim as finely as Cousin Sven, 
but my heart beats more truly. Mignon, sweet 
little darling, will you have me ?” 

She laughs through her tears, throws her arms 
around his neck and presses her face to his breast. 
Valleral’s love-making was champagne foam quite 
as before, but Mignon understood how to appreciate 
it now, and had acquired a ta.ste for it. Arm in 
arm, radiant with happiness, they stroll toward the 
castle. 

“We will arrange our new kingdom within four 
walls as a pattern for the future state, with ‘the 
strictest consideration of the woman question,” says 
he, teasingly. 

“ Of course. Perfect equality,” laughs she. 

“ Universal suffrage.” 

“ Really ? May I vote ?” 

“ Yes, but then you will have to pay very high 
taxes.” 

“ In coin of the realm ?” 

“ Yes — so — in coin of the realm!” and he takes her 
head between his hands and kisses her repeatedly. 

“ But then only quarterly !” says she, when she 
has recovered her breath. 

“ No. Whoever wishes to decide everything, as 
you do, must pay permanently.” 

They are so happy. They can scarcely believe 
so much happiness can exist on this earth. Sud- 
denly Cyprian looks at his watch. 


Her Little Highness. 


301 


“We have a half-hour’s time and mamma will not 
expect us before,” says he, becoming’ graver. “ Will 
you do me a favor, dear?” 

Her. radiant eyes consent. 

“Come with me to Aunt Claudine’s grave,” says 
he, softly. “ I feel as though she must take an es- 
pecial interest in our happiness, and as God’s angels 
are spirits of peace, doubtless she looks down upon 
us and blesses us, since I return her inheritance to 
the hands which have the most just claim to it.” 

Mignon gazes at him in delight. Now, for the 
first time, her heart thrills with the most perfect 
happiness. Cyprian cannot only laugh and jest, he 
can be grave and serious also. But he does not show 
these feelings to the great crowd ; only to those 
who will understand them. 

With trembling hands she picks a bunch of fra- 
grant blossoms, and then, he with his arm around 
. her, they go to the quiet, green mound, to ask from 
the dead the first blessing upon their love. 

No more unequal pair ever stood side by side, 
and yet love has united them in true and perfect 
harmony. 

When they returned to the castle, Mignon was not 
a little surprised to see two travelling carriages be- 
fore the entrance. 

Baroness Ohly came to meet them in a hand- 
some travelling costume, and the servants were 
bringing two trunks down the stairs in great haste. 

Mignon rushed into her mother’s arms, her face 
like a rose. 

“ Mamma— oh, dear, darling mamma — ” 


302 


Her Little Highness, 


Florence greeted them with a mixture of emotion 
and the greatest satisfaction. 

“ Well, children, it was the highest time that you 
came to an agreement. We must be at the railway 
station in half an hour,” said she dryly. 

“ Oh, mamma, I am so very happy !” 

“Indeed! Well, you might have been so some 
time before. By the way, Mr. Son-in-law, who 
would be with me in ten minutes, eh ?” 

Cyprian kissed her little hand and looked mis- 
chievous. 

“ Mother-in-law, do you not know that the way to 
— Hades is paved with good intentions?” 

Florence draws a breath of relief. She had feared 
that love would make Valleral tiresome. When 
the baron appeared, he found his family affairs in 
the best of order. 

“ And we are going back to the capital at once, 
mamma ?” cries Mignon, joyously. 

“ Of course. Did you think I would miss Cyril’s 
betrothal ? She laughed merrily. “ I must see how 
my little girl behaves as future mother-in-law of a 
princess.” 

Valleral’s engagement made a great sensation, 
and many predicted that such a dissimilar couple 
would never be happy together. But how greatly 
they were mistaken the future proved, for seldom 
has the capital witnessed a more happy marriage 
than Valleral’s. 

When autumn’s foliage was gayest, the thunder 
of cannon announced to the land that a princess had 
been born to the ducal pair. Rafaela stood god- 


Her Little Highness. 


303 


mother for the little heiress to the throne, her heart 
throbbing with happiness, and three days later she 
stood before the altar at the side of her lover. It was 
a quiet ceremony, limited to the most intimate court 
circle, but never did the sun shine more brightly 
through the chapel windows than on this day. 
Duke Henry could not take his eyes from the 
bride’s lovely face. To-day no sadness came over 
him. He thought of former times, and thanked 
Heaven. 

Cyril and Rafaela have lived for years in world- 
forgetful happiness in Castle Soldau, and Duchess 
Rende once asked thoughtfully : 

“ How is it possible that Rafaela’s first marriage 
should have been so sad, and her second so perfectly 
happy ?” 

The duke answered smilingly : 

“ Why? Only in love can unlike mate with un- 
like.” 


THE END. 


A War Novel. 


THE GUN-BEARER. 


BY 

EDWARD A. ROBINSON 

AND 

GE.ORGE A. WALL, 

Authors of ^*‘The Diskf etc. 


WITH ILL U8TRA TTONS B Y JAMES FA GA N. 


12mo. 276 Pages. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.25. 
Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


A new and thrilling war novel of intense interest, narrating 
the experiences of a private soldier whose regiment joins Sher- 
man’s army at Buzzard’s Roost, and shares the fortunes of that 
army, participating in all the engagements up to the fall of At- 
lanta. Thence with General Schofield’s command, pursued by 
General Hood into Tennessee, contesting the ground foot by 
foot, the regiment finally joins General Thomas at Nashville. 
The story culminates with the desperate battle of Franklin, 
where General Schofield, with ten thousand men, wrestled with 
General Hood and three times as many Confederates. Vivid 
descriptions of soldier life in camp, on the march, in bivouac, on 
picket, in skirmish and in battle, sustain the interest and hold 
the reader’s attention to the end. 


For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

7 0 5 ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 





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